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UNIVERSITY  OF 
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SAN  DIEGO 


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CALIFORNIA    SAN  DIEGO 


SSr        UNIVERSITY  OF 

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'3  1822  01676  2346 


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THE 
GOLDSMITH    ANTHOLOGY. 

1 745-1 774  A.D. 


BRIT.    A.TTH.    IX. 


BRITISH   ANTHOLOGIES. 


I. 

The  Dunbar  Anthology    . 

.       I4OI-I508   A.D 

II. 

The  Surrey  and  Wyatt  Anthology     1509-1547  a.d 

III. 

The  Spenser  Anthology    . 

.       I548-I59I    A.D 

IV. 

The  Shakespeare  Anthology    . 

.       1592-1616  A.D 

V. 

The  Jonson  Anthology 

1617-1637    A.D 

VI. 

The  Milton  Anthology     . 

1638-1674    A.D. 

VII. 

The  Dryden  Anthology     . 

1675-I7OO    A.D 

VIII. 

The  Pope  Anthology 

I70I-I744    A.D 

IX. 

The  Goldsmith  Anthology 

I745-1774    A.D 

X. 

The  Cowper  Anthology    . 

I775-180O    A.D 

THE 


GOLDSMITH 

ANTHOLOGY. 


I745-1774  A.D. 


EDITED    BY 


Professor  EDWARD  ARBER,  f.s.a., 

KELLOW   OF    king's   COLLEGE,    LONDON,    ETC. 


A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever ; 

Its  loveliness  increases.' 

Keats. 


LONDON : 
HENRY    FROVVDE, 

OXFORD   UNIVERSITY    PRESS   WAREHOUSE,   AMEN   CORNER,   E.C 

NEW  YOkK:   91  &  <>3  I-ikth  Avenue. 

1900. 


OXFORD. 

HORACE  HART,  PRINTER  TO  THE  UNIVERSlty. 


CONTENTS. 


Akenside,  M.D.  (1721-1770);   Mark     .... 

Anonymous    Poems,    50-52,   60,   61,  63,   64,  76-79,    119-121, 
161-164,   173,    181,    197,    198,   209-212,   242,   243, 
258-261,  268,  269,  271-273,  280-282,  293-295. 
Barbauld  (1743-1825)  ;  Anna  Letitia  (Aikin,  afterwards) 
Barnard  (1750-1825);    Lady  Anne  (Lindsay,  afterwards) 

BiCKERSTAFFE   (1735-1812)  ;     ISAAC 

BoYCE  (?  -1775);   Samuel 

Bradley  {l.  1729) ;  Arthur  . 

Bryce  (1713-1786);    Rev.  Alexander  . 

Burnet  (1694-1753);   Justice  Sir  Thomas 

Canning  the  Elder  (?  -1771);   George 

Charlotte  Sophia,  Queen  Consort  of  George  III  (1744-1818) 

CiBBER  (1714-1766) ;   Susanna  Maria  (Arne,  afterwards) 

Cockburn  (1712-1794);  Alison  (Rutherford,  afterwards 

Collins  (1721-1759) ;   William 

Cooper  (1723-1769);  John  Gilbert     .... 

Cotton,  ^LD.  (1705-1788);   Nathaniel 

Cunningham  (1729-1773);  John 

Dibdin  (1745-1814);   Charles 

Du  Bois(i728-i774);  Lady  DOROTHEA  (ANNESLEY,afterwards 

Elliot,  Bart.  (1722-1777) ;   Sir  Gilbert 

Elliot  (i 727-1 805) ;  Jank 

Fergusson  (1750-1774);   Robert 

Fitzgerald  (c.  1750);  Rev.  Thomas     .... 

Fletcher,  Dean  of  Kildarc  (c.  1748);    Philip 

Garrick  (1717-1779);    David 

Goldsmith  (1728-1774);  Oliver 

Graham,    later   Cunninghame-Graham,    M.P.   (?  -1797) 
Robert   

Gray,  who  was  offered,  but  declined   the   Poet   Laurcateship 
(1716-1771);  Thomas    . 

Grkville  (c.  1768);  Mrs.  —   , 

H.  (c.  1753);    I-  S 

V 


PACE 

257 

137,     141, 
252,      253, 

274-278 
248,  249 

159 
108-11  I 

38 

148 

279 

220,  221 

169 

73 
172 

53-58 
160 
122-125 
199-208 
296, 297 
165-168 
170 
170,  171 
283-292 
262,  263 

74,75 

183-196 

1-30 

264,  265 


80-104 

214-216 

129 


Contents. 


Isabella  (Byron, 


James 


Howard,  Countess  of  Carlisle  (?-I795) 
afterwards)        .... 

Jacobite  Songs  (1745) 

Joel  ((T.  1775);  Thomas  . 

Johnson,  LL.D.  (1709-1784);  Samuel 

Jones  [c.  1750);   Mary    . 

Kelly  (1739-1777);   Hugh 

L.,  Esquire  (c.  1747);    C.  . 

Logan  (1748-1788) ;  Rev.  John 

Mallet  (1705-1765) ;   David  . 

Marriott  (1730-1803);   Rt.  Hon.  Justice  Sir 

MiCKLE  (1735-1788);  William  Julius 

Moore  (1712-1757) ;  Edward 

Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore  (1729-1811);  Thomas 

Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham  (1708-1778);  William    . 

PULTENEY,  Earl  of  BATH   (1684-I764);    WILLIAM. 

Pye  {c.  1767) ;  J.  Henrietta 

RoLT  (1725-1770) ;  Richard 

Ross  (1699- 1784) ;  Alexander      .... 

Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset  (1711-1769);  Charles 

Scott  of  Amwell,  of  the  Society  of  Friends  (1730-1783) ; 

Shenstone  (1714-1763);  William 

Smollett  (1721-1771);  Tobias  George 

Stanhope,   Earl   of  Chesterfield    (1694-1773) 
Dormer  

Stevens  (1710-1784);   George  Alexander. 

Walpole,  Earl  of  Orford  (1717-1797);   Horace 

Webster,  D.D.  (1707-1784);   Rev.  Alexander 

West,  Earl  De  la  Warr  (1729-1777) ;  John 

Whistler  {c.  1755);  Anthony 

Whitehead,  P.L.  (1715-1785);  William 

Wyndham,  Earl  of  Egremont  (1710-1763) ;  Charles 


John 


Philip 


FIRST   LINES   AND   NOTES 


GLOSSARY   AND    INDEX 


PAGE 
217-219 

3^-37 
266,  267 
112-118 
105-107 
138-140 

62,63 
254-256 
142-147 
230-233 
234-241 

130, 131 
174-180 

182 
65-69 

213 

298 
222-225 
244-247 

270 

39-49 
132-136 

68-72 

250,251 

153-158 

59 
226-229 

128 

149-152 

126, 127 

299 
304 


VI 


THE 

GOLDS  M I T  H 
ANTHOLOGY. 

I745-I774   A.D. 


EDWIN  AND  ANGELINA. 
[THE  HERMIT.'] 

*TuRN,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  dale! 

And  guide  my  lonely  way 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale, 

With  hospitable  ray ! 


'  For,  here,  forlorn  and  lost,   I  tread, 
With  fainting  steps  and  slow, 

Where  wilds  immeasurably  spread, 
Seem  lengthening  as  I  go ! ' 

BRIT.  ANTll.    IX.  B  X 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


'  Forbear,  my  son  ! '    the  Hermit  cries, 
'  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom  I 

For  yonder  phantom  only  flies 
To  lure  thee  to  thy  doom ! 

'  Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want, 

My  door  is  open  still ; 
And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant, 

I  give  it  with  good  will ! 

'Then  turn,  to-night,  and  freely  share 

Whate'er  my  cell  bestows ! 
My  rushy  couch,  and  frugal  fare, 

My  blessing,  and  repose! 

'  No  flocks,  that  range  the  valley  free, 

To  slaughter  I  condemn ; 
Taught  by  that  Power  that  pities  me, 

I  learn  to  pity  them ! 

*  But  from  the  mountain's  grassy  side, 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring ! 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied ; 
And  water  from  the  spring ! 

*  Then,  Pilgrim  !    turn  !    thy  cares  forgo  ! 

For  earth-born  cares  are  wrong ! 
Man  wants  but  little  here  below ; 
Nor  wants  that  little  long !  * 


Oliver  Golds  mi f/i. 


Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends, 

His  gentle  accents  fell. 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends, 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  sheltered  in  a  glade  obscure, 

The  modest  mansion  lay; 
A  refuge  to  the  neighb'ring  poor, 

And  strangers  led  astray. 

No  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 

Required  a  master's  care  ; 
The  door  just  opening  with  a  latch, 

Received  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  worldly  crowds  retire 

To  revels,  or  to  rest, 
The  Hermit  trimmed  his  little  fire, 

And  cheered  his  pensive  guest ; 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store, 
And  gaily  pressed,  and  smiled  ; 

And,  skilled  in  legendary  lore, 
The  lingering  hours  beguiled. 

Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth, 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries, 
The  cricket  chirrups  in  the  hearth, 

The  crackliuo-  fair^ot  (lies  : 

U    2  ' 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 
To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe ; 

For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  Hermit  spied, 
With  answering  care  opprest, 

*  And  whence,  unhappy  Youth ! '  he  cried, 

'  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

*  From  better  habitations  spurned, 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  unreturned, 
Or  unregarded  love  ? 

'  Alas !   the  joys  that  Fortune  brings 

Are  trifling  and  decay; 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things, 

More  trifling  still  than  they ! 

*  And  what  is  Friendship  but  a  name ! 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep ! 
A  shade  that  follows  Wealth,  or  Fame ; 
But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep ! 

'  And  Love  is  still  an  emptier  sound ! 

The  haughty  Fair  One's  jest! 
On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 

To  warm  the  turtle's  nest! 


Oliver  Golds))iitli. 


'  For  shame  !    fond  Youth  !    thy  sorrows  hush  ; 

And  spurn  the  Sex ! '  he  said  : 
But  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 

His  bashful  guest  betrayed. 

He  sees  unnumbered  beauties  rise, 

Expanding  to  the  view, 
Like  clouds  that  deck  the  morning  skies, 

As  bright,  as  transient,  too! 

Her  looks,  her  lips,  her  panting  breast, 

Alternate  spread  alarms  : 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  confest 

A  Maid  in  all  her  charms. 

'  And,  ah  !   forgive  a  stranger  rude, 

A  wretch  forlorn,'  she  cried, 
'  Whose  feet  unhallowed  thus  intrude 

Where  Heaven  and  you  reside! 

'  But  let  a  Maid  thy  pity  share. 
Whom   Love  has  taught  to  stray ; 

Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  Despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 

*  My  father  lived  beside  the  Tyne, 

A  wealthy   Lord  was  he  ; 
And  all  his  wealth  was  marked  as  mine — 

He  had  but  only  me ! 

5 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


'  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms, 

Unnumbered  suitors  came ; 
Who  praised  me  for  imputed  charms, 

And  felt,  or  feigned,  a  flame. 

*  Each  morn,  the  gay  fantastic  crowd, 

With  richest  proffers  strove : 
Among  the  rest,  young  Edwin  bowed ; 
But  never  talked  of  love. 

'  In  humble  simplest  habit  clad, 
No  wealth  nor  power  had  he ! 

A  constant  heart  was  all  he  had ; 
But  that  was  all  to  me ! 

'  The  blossom  opening  to  the  day, 

The  dews  of  heaven  refined. 
Could  nought  of  purity  display 

To  emulate  his  mind ! 

*  The  dew,  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 

With  charms  inconstant  shine  ; 
Their  charms  were  his !   but,  woe  to  me ! 
Their  constancy  was  mine ! 

*  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 

Importunate  and  vain  ; 
And  while  his   Passion  touched  my  heart, 
I  triumphed  in  his  pain ! 


Oliver  Goldsiuitli. 


'Till,  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 

He  left  me  to  my  pride ; 
And  soiisht  a  solitude  forlorn 

In  secret,  where  he  died. 

'  But  mine  the  sorrow,   mine  the  fault ; 

And  well  my  life  shall  pay ! 
I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought, 

And  stretch  me  where  he  lay ! 

'  And  there,  forlorn,  despairing,  hid, 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die! 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did; 

And  so  for  him  will   I ! ' 

'  Thou  shalt  not  thus  ! '  the  Hermit  cried 
And  clasped  her  to  his  breast. 

The  wond'ring  Fair  One  turned  to  chide  ; 
'Twas  Edwin's  self  that  prest! 

*  Turn,  Angelina  !  ever  dear ! 

My  Charmer !   turn   to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long-lost,   Edwin  here 

Restored  to  love  and  thee ! 

'  Thus,   let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  ev'ry  care  resign  ; 
And  shall  we  never,  never,  part  ? 

O,  thou  ! — my  all  that  's  mine  ! 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


'  No !   never,  from  this  hour,  to  part ! 

We'll  live  and  love  so  true, 
The  sigh,  that  rends  thy  constant  heart. 

Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too!' 


AN  ELEGY 

ON     THE    DEATH     OF    A     MAD    DOG. 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort. 
Give  ear  unto  my  Song ! 

And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 
It  cannot  hold  you  long ! 


In  Islington,  there  was  a  man, 
Of  whom  the  World  might  say, 

That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran, 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray! 


A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes  ; 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad. 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes! 
8 


Olivcy  Golds)}iitli. 


And  in  that  town,  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be ! 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  decrree. 


The  dog  and  man,  at  first,  were  friends ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man ! 


Around  from  all  the  neighbouring  streets, 
The  wondering  neighbours  ran ; 

And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits, 
To  bite  so  good  a  man ! 


The  wound,  it  seemed  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye ; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die ! 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  shewed  the  rogues  they  lied. 

The  man  recovered  of  the  bite  ; 
The  dog,  it  was  that  died! 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


THE  DESERTED   VILLAGE. 


Sweet  Auburn !   loveliest  Village  of  the  plain ! 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  labouring  Swain  ; 
Where  smiling  Spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  Summer's  ling' ring  blooms  delayed. 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease  ! 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please  ! 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  Green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene  ! 

How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm  ! 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  Mill, 
The  decent  Church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill, 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade. 
For  talking  Age  and  whisp'ring  Lovers  made. 

How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coming  day, 
When  toil,  remitting,  lent  its  turn  to  play  ; 
And  all  the  village  Train,  from  labour  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree ; 
While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade. 
The  young  contending,  as  the  old  surveyed  ; 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground. 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round : 
lo 


Oliver  Goldsniitli. 


And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 

Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired  ; 

The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown 

By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down  ; 

The  Swain,  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face. 

While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place  ; 

The  bashful  Virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love, 

The  Matron's  glance,  that  would  those  looks  reprove. 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  Village !  Sports  like  these, 
With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please  ! 
These,  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed  ; 
These  were  thy  charms  : — but  all   these  charms  are  fled  I 


Sweet  smiling  Village !    loveliest  of  the  lawn ! 
Thy  sports  are  fled^  and  all   thy  charms  withdrawn  ! 
Amidst  thy  bowers,  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen  ; 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  Green ! 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain. 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain. 
No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day ; 
But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way. 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
The  hollow-sounding  bittern,  guards  its  nest : 
Amidst  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies, 
And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries. 
Sunk  arc  thy  bowers,  in  shapeless  ruin  all ! 
And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mould'ring  wall. 
And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's   hand, 
Far,  far  away,   thy  children  leave  the  land  ! 


XI 


Oliver  Goldsmith, 


111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay ! 
Princes  and  Lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade ;  I 

A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made : 
But  a  bold  Peasantry,  their  country's  pride, 
When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied ! 

A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 
When  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its  man. 
For  him  light  labour  spread  her  wholesome  store, 
Just  gave  what  life  required  ;    but  gave  no  more ! 
His  best  companions.  Innocence  and  Health ; 
And  his  best  riches.  Ignorance  of  Wealth ! 

But  Times  are  altered.     Trade's  unfeeling  Train 
Usurp  the  land,  and  dispossess  the  Swain. 
Along  the  lawn,  where  scattered  hamlets  rose, 
Unwieldy  Wealth  and  cumbrous  Pomp  repose. 
And  every  want  to  Opulence  allied, 
And  every  pang  that  Folly  pays  to  Pride. 

Those  gentle  hours  that  Plenty  bade  to  bloom. 
Those  calm  desires  that  asked  but  little  room, 
Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  peaceful  scene, 
Lived  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the  Green ; 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore ; 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more ! 


Sweet  Auburn!    parent  of  the  blissful  hour. 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power! 

Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 

12 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew  ; 
Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  Train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  Past  to  pain  ! 

In  all  my  wand'rings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs  (and  GOD  has  given   my  share !) 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down  ; 
To  husband  out  Life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose  ! 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  Pride  attends  us  still, 
Amidst  the  Swains  to  shew  my  book-learned  skill  I 
Around  my  fire,  an  evening  group  to  draw. 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw  ! 
And  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew  ; 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return  ; — and  die  at  home  at  last ! 

O,  blest  Retirement!   friend  to  Life's  decline! 
Retreats  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine ! 

How  happy  he,  who  crowns  in  shades  like  these 
A  Youth  of  labour  with  an  Age  of  ease ! 
Who  quits  a  World,  where  strong  temptations  try  ; 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him,  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep. 
Explore  the  mine  ;    or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep  ! 
No  surly  Porter  stands  in  guilty  State, 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate  ! 
Kut  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end. 
Angels  around   befriending  Virtue's  friend  ! 

13 


Oliver  Goldsmith, 


Bends  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
While  Resignation  gently  slopes  the  way ; 
And,  all  his  prospects  bright'ning  to  the  last, 
His  Heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past ! 


Sweet  was  the  sound  when  oft,  at  evening's  close, 
Up  yonder  hill  the  Village  murmur  rose ; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow. 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below. 
The  Swain  responsive,  as  the  Milkmaid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  School, 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whisp'ring  wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind ; 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 
And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 

But,  now,  the  sounds  of  population  fail. 
No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale  ; 
No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 
For  all  the  bloomy  flush  of  life  is  fled  ! 
All  but  yon  widowed,  solitary,  thing, 
That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring; 
She,  wretched  Matron,  forced,  in  age,  for  bread, 
To  strip  the  brook,  with  mantling  cresses  spread  ; 
To  pick  her  wintry  faggot  from  the  thorn  ; 
To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn. 
She  only  left,  of  all  the  harmless  Train, 
The  sad  Historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 


14 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild, 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  Village  Preacher's  modest  mansion  rose ! 
A  man  he  was,  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  Forty  Pounds  a  year ! 

Remote  from  towns,  he  ran  his  godly  race ; 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place ! 
Unpractised  he,  to  fawn ;    or  seek  for  power, 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ! 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize ; 
More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched,  than  to  rise  I 

His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  Train. 
He  chid  their  wanderings  ;   but  relieved  their  pain  ! 
The  long-remembered  Beggar  was  his  guest ; 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  ag^d  breast. 
The  ruined  Spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claimed  kindred  there  ;    and  had  his  claims  allowed. 
The  broken  Soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away, 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shouldered     his     crutch,    and     shewed     how     Fields    were 
won. 

Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow  ; 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe  : 
Careless  their  merits,  or  their  faults,  to  scan 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began  ! 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride  ; 
And  even  his  failings  leaned  to  Virtue's  side. 
But,  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call. 
He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt,  for  all  ! 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 

'5 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way ! 

Beside  the  bed,  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  Sorrow,  Guilt,  and  Pain,  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  Champion  stood.     At  his  control. 
Despair  and  Anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ! 
Comfort  came  down,  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise  ; 
And  his  last  falt'ring  accents  whispered  praise ! 

At  Church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace. 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place. 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway ; 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 

The  Service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran  ; 
Even  children  followed  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 

His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed  ; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed. 
To  them,  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were  given  ; 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  Heaven  : 
As  some  tall  cliff,  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head ! 


Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule, 
The  Village  Master  taught  his  little  School. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view. 
I  knew  him  well !    and  every  truant  knew ! 
i6 


Oliver  Golds )nif/i. 


Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face! 
Full  well  they  laughed,  with  counterfeited  glee, 
At  all  his  jokes  ;   for  many  a  joke  had  he ! 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round, 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings,  when  he  frowned  ! 
Yet  he  was  kind  ;   or  if  severe  in  aught, 
The  love  he  bore  to  Learning  was  in  fault. 

The  Village  all  declared,  how  much  he  knew ! 
'Twas  certain,  he  could  write  !    and  cipher  too  ! 
Lands  he  could  measure !    Terms  and  tides  presage ! 
And  even  the  story  ran  ; — that  he  could  gauge  ! 
In  arguing  too,  the  Parson  owned  his  skill ; 
For  even  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still  ! 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundring  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around ; 
And  still  they  gazed  !   and  still  the  wonder  grew, 
That  one  small  head  should  carry  all  he  knew  ! 

But  past  is  all  his  fame !     The  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed,  is  forgot ! 


Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on  high. 
Where  once  the  Sign-Post  caught  the  passing  eye. 
Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts  inspired, 
Where  grey-beard  Mirth  and  smiling  Toil   retired, 
Where  Village  Statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound  ; 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 

Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 
The  Parlour  splendours  of  that  festive  place. 
The  white-washed  wall,  the  nicely  sanded    floor. 
The  varnished  clock  tliat  clicked  behind  the  door, 

RRIT.  ANTM.  IX.  C  I'J 


Oliver  Goldsfnith. 


The  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day. 
The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use. 
The  Twelve  Good  Rules,  The  Royal  Game  of  Goose. 
The  hearth,  except  when  Winter  chilled  the  day, 
With  aspen  boughs  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay ; 
While  broken  tea-cups,  wisely  kept  for  show, 
Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 

Vain  transitory  splendours !  could  not  all 
Reprieve  the  tott'ring  mansion  from  its  fall. 
Obscure  it  sinks ;   nor  shall  it  more  impart 
An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart ! 
Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care ! 
No  more  the  Farmer's  news,  the  Barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  Woodman's  Ballad  shall  prevail ! 
No  more  the  Smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear, 
Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  lean  to  hear! 
The  Host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round ; 
Nor  the  coy  Maid,  half  willing  to  be  prest, 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest! 


Yes  !     Let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  Train ! 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart. 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art  ! 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  Nature  has  its  play, 
The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway! 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,   unconfined  I 

i8 


Oliver  Go/dsjtiit/i. 


But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  Masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  Wealth  arrayed, 
In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain  ! 
And,  even  while  Fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy, 
The  heart,  distrusting,  asks,  'If  this  be  Joy?' 


Ye  friends  to  Truth  !    ye  Statesmen  who  survey 
The  rich  man's  joys  increase  !    the  poor's,  decay ! 
'Tis  yours  to  judge,  How  wide  the  limits  stand 
Between  a  splendid,  and  a  happy,  land  ! 

Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore ; 
And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore ! 
Hoards,  even  beyond  the  Miser's  wish,  abound  ; 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains  !    This  wealth  is  but  a  name, 
That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same  ! 
Not  so  the  loss  !    The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 
Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied ! 
Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds  ! 
The  robe,  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth, 
Has  robbed  the  neighbouring  fields  of  half  their  growth  ! 
His  Scat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen. 
Indignant  spurns  the  Cottage  from  the  Green ! 
Around  the  world,  each  needful  product  flies, 
For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies. 
While  thus  the  land,  adorned  for  pleasure,  all 
In  barren  splendcmr  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

As  some  fair  female,  unadorned  and  plain. 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 

c  2  19 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Slights  every  borrowed  charm  that  dress  supplies, 

Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes : 

But  when  those  charms  are  past  (for  charms  are  frail !), 

When  time  advances,  and  when  Lovers  fail, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 

In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress. 

Thus  fares  the  land,  by  luxury  betrayed, 

In  Nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed ; 

But,  verging  to  decline,  its  splendours  rise  ! 

Its  Vistas  strike !  its  Palaces  surprise  ! 

While,  scourged  by  famine,  from  the  smiling  land. 

The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band  ; 

And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save. 

The  country  blooms  ; — a  garden,  and  a  grave  ! 

Where  then,  ah !    where  shall  Poverty  reside. 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  Pride? 
If,  to  some  Common's  fenceless  limits  strayed. 
He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade, 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  Sons  of  Wealth  divide, 
And  even  the  bare-worn  Common  is  denied  ! 

If  to  the  City  sped,  what  waits  him  there? 
To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share  ! 
To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
To  pamper  luxury ;   and  thin  mankind ! 
To  see  those  joys  the  Sons  of  Pleasure  know, 
Extorted  from  his  fellow  creature's  woe  ! 

Here,  while  the  Courtier  glitters  in  brocade ; 
There,  the  pale  Artist  plies  the  sickly  trade! 
Here,  while  the  Proud  their  long-drawn  pomps  display; 
There,  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way! 
The  Dome,  where  Pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign, 
Here,  richly  decked,  admits  the  gorgeous  Train ; 
20 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Tumultuous  grandeur  crowds  the  blazing  Square, 
The  rattling  chariots  clash  !   the  torches  glare  ! 
Sure,  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy  ! 
Sure,  these  denote  one  universal  Joy  ! 

Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ?     Ah  !    turn  thine  eyes 
Where  the  poor  houseless,  shivering  female  lies. 
She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blessed, 
Has  wept  at  Tales  of  innocence  distressed  ; 
Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 
Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn. 
Now,  lost  to  all !    her  friends,  her  virtue,  fled ! 
Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head  ; 
And,  pinched  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 
With  heavy  heart,  deplores  that  luckless  hour, 
When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  Town, 
She  left  her  Wheel  and  robes  of  country  brown. 


Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn !    thine,  the  loveliest  Train  ! 
Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain? 
Even  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led, 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread ! 

Ah!    no!     To  distant   climes,    a  dreary  scene, 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between, 
Through  torrid  tracts,  with  fainting  steps,  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe. 

Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmed  before, 
The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore  : 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray, 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day; 

2[ 


Oliver  Golds7nith. 


Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 
But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling ; 
Those  pois'nous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned, 
Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around ; 
Where,  at  each  step,  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 
The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake ; 
Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey, 
And  savage  men,  more  murderous  still  than  they 
While  oft,  in  whirls,  the  mad  tornado  flies. 
Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies. 
Far  diff rent  these,  from  every  former  scene, 
The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy  vested  green, 
The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove. 
That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 


Good  Heaven  !   what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting  day, 
That  called  them  from  their  native  walks  away ! 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past. 
Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last ; 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western   Main ; 
And  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep. 
Returned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep. 

The  good  old  Sire,  the  first  prepared  to  go 
To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe, 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wished  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave! 

His  lovely  Daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears. 
The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent,  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms ; 
And  left  a  Lover's  for  a  Father's  arms. 

22 


Oliver  Golds  1  n  it Ji. 


With  louder  plaints,  the  Mother  spoke  her  woes, 
And  blessed  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose ; 
And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear, 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear: 
Whilst  her  fond  Husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 


O,  Luxury !   thou  curst  by  Heaven's  decree  ! 
How  ill  exchanged  are  things  like  these  for  thee  ! 
How  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy, 
Diffuse  their  pleasures  only  to  destroy ! 

Kingdoms,  by  thee  to  sickly  greatness  grown, 
Boast  of  a  florid  vigour  not  their  own ! 
At  every  draught,  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 
A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  Woe, 
Till,  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound, 
Down,  down,  they  sink  ;   and  spread  a  ruin  round  ! 

Even  now,  the  devastation  is  begun  ; 
And  half  the  business  of  destruction,  done  ! 

Even  now,  methinks,  as  pond'ring  here  I  stand, 
I  see  the  Rural  Virtues  leave  the  land ! 
Down  where  yon  anch'ring  vessel  spreads  the  sail, 
That,  idly  waiting,  flaps  with  every  gale. 
Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band. 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 
Contented  Toil,  and  hospitable   Care, 
And  kind  connubial  Tenderness  are  there  1 
And   Piety  with  wishes  placed  above, 
And  steady  Loyalty,  and  faithful  Love ! 


33 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


And  thou,  sweet  Poetry  !    thou  loveliest  Maid  ! 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade, 
Unfit,  in  these  degen'rate  Times  of  shame. 
To  catch  the  heart  ;  or  strike  for  honest  fame ! 

Dear  charming  Nymph  !   neglected  and  decried. 
My  shame  in  crowds  !    my  solitary  pride ! 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss,  and  all  my  woe ; 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so  ! 
Thou  Guide,  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel! 
Thou  Nurse  of  every  virtue  !    fare  thee  well  ! 

Farewell !  and  O,  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torrio's  cliffs,  or  Pambamarca's  side, 
Whether  where  equinoctial  fervours  glow, 
« Or  Winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow ; 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  Time, 
Redress  the  rigours  of  the  inclement  clime  ! 
Aid  slighted  Truth,  with  thy  persuasive  strain  ! 
Teach  erring  Man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain  ! 
Teach  him  that  States,  of  native  strength  possessed, 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blessed  ! 
[That  Trade's  proud  Empire  hastes  to  swift  decay. 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  laboured  mole  away; 
While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky !] 


24 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


RETALIATION, 

including 

Epitaphs  on  the  most  distinguished   Wits 
OF  THIS  Metropolis. 

Of  old,  when  Scarron^  his  companions  invited, 
Each  oruest  brou2:ht  his  dish,  and  the  feast  was  united: 
If  our  landlord-  supplies  us  with  beef  and  with  fish, 
Let  each  y-uest  brino-  himself,  and  he  brings  the  best  dish! 

Our  Dean^  shall  be  venison,  just  fresh  from  the  plains! 
Our  Burke  ^  shall  be  tongue,  with  a  garnish  of  brains! 
Our  Will  ^  shall  be  w^ild-fowl  of  excellent  flavour ; 
And  DiCK^,  with  his  pepper,  shall  heighten  their  savour! 
Our  Cumberland'^  's  sweet-bread,  its  place  shall  obtain; 
And  Douglas*  is  pudding  substantial  and  plain! 
Our  Garrick^  's  a  salad;    for  in  him  we  see 
Oil,  vinegar,  sugar,  and  saltness  agree  ! 
To  make  out  the  dinner,  full  certain   I   am 
That  Ridge  ^'*  is  anchovy;   and  Reynolds'^  is  lamb! 
That  Mickey '2  's  a  capon;    and,  by  the  same  rule, 
Magnanimous  Goldsmith,  a  gooseberry  fool ! 

'  Paul  Scarron.  '  RicirARD  CuMiiKRi.ANn. 

'  Of  the   St,  James'  Coffee  House,  '  John   Douglas,  in  1774  Canon  of 

London.  Wincliester ;  afterwards,  in  17S7,  liishop 

*  Thomas  Barnard,  in  1774  Dean  of  Carllsle  ;  and,  in  1791,  of  Salis- 
of  Derry  ;  afterwards,  in  1780,  Hishop  of  HURY. 

Killaloe;  and, in  1790,  of  Limerick,  "  David  Garrick. 

♦  Kt  Hon.  EuMUNiJ  HuRKE.  '"  John  Ridge. 

»  William  Hukke,  M.I'.  "  Sir  Joshi-a  Kfynolds,  T.R.A. 

'  Richard  I5urke,  the   brother   of  "  Thomas  Hickky. 

Edmund  Hurke. 

25 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


At  a  dinner  so  various,  at  such  a  repast, 
Who'd  not  be  a  glutton,  and  stick  to  the  last! 
Here,  Waiter!  more  wine!   Let  me  sit  while  I'm  able, 
Till  all  my  companions  sink  under  the  table  ! 
Then,  with  chaos  and  blunders  encircling  my  head, 
Let  me  ponder,  and  tell  what  I  think  of  the  dead! 


Here  lies  the  good  Dean,  reunited  to  earth. 
Who  mixed  Reason  with  Pleasure,  and  Wisdom  with 

Mirth ! 
If  he  had  any  faults,  he  has  left  us  in  doubt ; 
At  least,  in  six  weeks,   I  could  not  find  them  out ! 
Yet  some  have  declared  (and  it  can't  be  denied  them!) 
That  Sly-boots  was  cursedly  cunning  to  hide  them! 


Here  lies  our  good  Edmund,  whose  genius  was  such, 
We  scarcely  can  praise  it,  or  blame  it,  too  much ! 
Who,  born  for  the  Universe,  narrowed  his  mind; 
And  to  Party  gave  up,  what  was  meant  for  Mankind! 
Though  fraught  with  all  learning,  yet  straining  his  throat 
To  persuade  Tommy  Townshend  to  lend  him  a  vote! 
Who,  too  deep  for  his  hearers,  still  went  on  refining; 
And  thought  of  convincing,  while  they  thought  of  dining! 
Though  equal  to  all  things  ;  for  all  things   unfit ! 
Too  nice  for  a  Statesman ;    too  proud  for  a  Wit ! 
For  a   Patriot  too  cool ;    for  a  drudge,  disobedient ; 
And  too  fond  of  the  Right,  to  pursue  the  Expedient! 
26 


01  ii 'cr  Golds f II  itli. 


In  short,  'twas  his  fate,  unemployed,  or  in  place,  Sir 
To  eat  mutton  cold ;    and  cut  blocks  with  a  razor ! 


Here  lies  honest  William,  whose  heart  was  a  mint, 
While  the  owner  ne'er  knew  half  the  o-ood  that  was  in  't ! 
The  pupil  of  impulse,  it  forced  him  along. 
His  conduct  still  right,  with  his  argument  wrong  ! 
Still  aiming  at  honour,  yet  fearing  to  roam ; 
The  coachman  was  tipsy,  the  chariot  drove   home. 
Would  vou  ask  for  his  merits?    Alas!   he  had  none! 
What  was  good  was  spontaneous;  his  faults  were  hisown! 


Here  lies  honest  Richard,  whose  fate  I  must  sigh  at! 
Alas  !    that  such  frolic  should  now  be  so   quiet ! 
What  spirits  were  his  !    What  wit  and  what  whim ! 
Now  breaking  a  jest  ;    and  now  breaking  a  limb  ! 
Now  wrangling  and  grumbling  to  keep  up  the  ball, 
Now  teasing  and  vexing  ;    yet  laughing  at  all ! 
In  short,  so  provoking  a  Devil  was  Dick, 
That  we  wished  him,  full  ten  times  a  day,  at  Old  Nick  ! 
But,  missing  his  mirth  and  agreeable  vein, 
As  often  we  wished  to  have  Dick  back  again  I 


Here  Cumberland  lies,  having  acted  his  Parts, 
The  Terence  of  England,  the  mender  of  hearts  ! 
A   flattering  paintcT;    who  made  it  his  care 
lo  draw  men  as  they  ought  to  be,  not  as  they  are ! 

27 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


His  Gallants  are  all  faultless;    his  Women,  divine 

And  Comedy  wonders  at  being  so   fine ! 

Like  a  Tragedy  Queen,  he  has  dizened  her  out ; 

Or  rather  like  Tragedy  giving  a  Rout ! 

His  Fools  have  their  follies  so  lost  in  a  crowd 

Of  virtues  and  feelings,  that  Folly  grows  proud ! 

And  Coxcombs  alike  in  their  failings  alone, 

Adopting  his  portraits,  are  pleased  with  their  own 

Say,  where  has  our  Poet  this  malady  caught ; 

Or  wherefore  his  Characters  thus  without  fault  ? 

Say,  was  it  that,  vainly  directing  his  view 

To  find  out  men's  virtues,  and  finding  them  few, 

Quite  sick  of  pursuing  each  troublesome   elf, 

He  grew  lazy  at  last,  and  drew  from  himself? 


Here  Douglas  retires  from  his  toils  to  relax ; 
The  scourge  of  impostors !    the  terror  of  quacks  ! 
Come,  all  ye  quack  Bards  !   and  ye  quacking  Divines! 
Come,  and  dance  on  the  spot  where  your  tyrant  reclines! 
Where  Satire  and  Censure  encircled  his  throne, 
I  feared  for  your  safety !    I  feared  for  my  own ! 

But  now  he  is  gone,  and  we  want  a  detector; 
Our  DoDDS  shall  be  pious  !  our  Kenricks  shall  lecture ! 
Macpherson  write  bombast,  and  call  it  a  style ! 
Our  TowNSHEND  make  speeches  ;  and  I  shall  compile  ! 
New  Lauders  and  Bowers,  the  Tweed  shall  cross  over; 
No  countryman  living,  their  tricks  to   discover ! 
Detection,  her  taper  shall  quench  to  a  spark ; 
And  Scotchman  meet  Scotchman,  and  cheat  in  the  dark! 
28 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Here  lies  David  Garrick  !     Describe  me  who  can, 
An  abridgement  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  Man  ! 
As  an  Actor,  confessed  without  rival  to  shine ! 
As  a  Wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line ! 
Yet.  with  talents  like  these,  and  an  excellent  heart ; 
The  man  had  his  failings,  a  dupe  to  his  art ! 
Like  an  ill-judging  Beauty,  his  colours  he  spread; 
And  beplastered  with  rouge  his  own  natural  red! 
On  the  Stage,   he  was  natural,  simple,  affecting; 
Twas  only  that,  when  he  was  off,  he  was  acting! 
With  no  reason  on  earth  to  go  out  of  his  way. 
He  turned,  and  he  varied,  full  ten  times  a  day! 
Though  secure  of  our  hearts ;  yet  confoundedly  sick, 
If  they  were  not  his  own  by  finessing  and  trick! 
He  cast  off  his  friends,  as  a  Huntsman,  his  pack ; 
Forheknew,whenhe  pleased, hecouldwhistle  themback. 

Of  praise,  a  mere  glutton  !  he  swallowed  what  came  ; 
And  the  puff  of  a  dunce,  he  mistook  it  for  fame, 
Till  his  relish  grown  callous,  almost  to  disease, 
Who  peppered  the  highest  was  surest  to  please ! 
But  let  us  be  candid,  and  speak  out  our  mind ; 
If  dunces  applauded,  he  paid  them  in  kind! 
Ye  Kenricks,  ye  Kellys,  and  Woodfalls  so  grave, 
What  a  commerce  was  yours!  while  you  got  and  you  gave. 
How  did  Grub  Street  re-echo  the  shouts  that  you  raised ; 
When  he  was  be-Rosciused,  and  you  were  bepraised ! 

But  peace  to  his  spirit,  wherever  it  flies. 
To  act  as  an   Angel,  and  mix  with   the  skies  ! 
Those  Poets,  who  owe  their  best  fame  to  his  skill, 
Shall  still  be  his  flatterers,  go  where  he  will ! 

^9 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Old  Shakespeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with  love! 
And  Beaumonts  and  Bens  be  his  Kellys  above! 


Here  Hickey  reclines,a  most  blunt,  pleasant  creature; 
And  Slander  itself  must  allow  him  good-nature! 
He  cherished  his  friend,  and  he  relished  a  bumper ; 
Yet  one  fault  he  had,  and  that  one  was  a  thumper ! 

Perhaps  you  may  ask,  *  If  the  man  was  a  miser  ?' 
I  answer,  '  No  !    No !    For  he  always  was  wiser ! 
Too  courteous,  perhaps,  or  obligingly  flat ; 
His  very  worst  foe  can't  accuse  him  of  that!' 

'  Perhaps,  he  confided  in  men  as  they  go, 
And  so  was  too  foolishly  honest  ?  '     *  Ah  !    no  ! ' 
'  Then  what  was  his  failing?  Come,  tell  it,  and  burn  ye  ! ' 
*  He  was  (could  he  help  it  ?)  a  Special  Attorney ! ' 


Here  Reynolds  is  laid ;  and,  to  tell  you  my  mind, 
He  has  not  left  a  better  or  wiser  behind! 
His  pencil  was  striking,  resistless,  and  grand! 
His  manners  were  gentle,  complying,  and  bland! 
Still  born  to  improve  us  in  every  part; 
His  pencil,  our  faces;   his  manners,  our  heart! 

To  coxcombs  averse,  yet  most  civilly  steering ; 
When  they  judged  without  skill,  he  was  still  hard  of 
hearing!  [stuff; 

While  they  talked  of  their  Raphaels,  Correggios,  and 
He  shifted  his  trumpet,  and  only  took  snuff! 


30 


yacobitc  Songs. 


Wha  wadna  fight  for  Charlte  ? 
Wha  wadna  draw  the  sword  ? 
Wha  wadna  up  and  rally, 

At  their  royal   Prince's  word? 
Think  on  Scotia's  ancient  heroes! 
Think  on  foreign  foes  repelled ! 
Think  on  glorious  Bruce  and  Wallace, 
Wha  the  proud  usurpers  quelled ! 

Wha  wadna  fight  for  Charlie  ?    &c. 
Rouse,  rouse,  ye  kilted  warriors ! 

Rouse,  ye  heroes  of  the  North ! 
Rouse,  and  join  your  Chieftain's  banners  ! 

'Tis  your  Prince,  that  leads  you  forth  ! 

Wlia  wadna  fight  for  Charlie  ?   &c. 
Shall  we  basely  crouch  to  tyrants  ? 

Shall  we  own  a  foreign  sway  ? 
Shall  a  royal  Stuart  be  banished, 

While  a  stranger  rules  the  day  ? 

Wha  wadna  fight  for  Charlie  ?    &c. 
See  the  northern  Clans  advancing ! 

See  Glp:ngarry  and  Lochiel 
See  the  brandished  broadswords  glancing! 
Highland  hearts  are  true  as  steel! 

3» 


yacobite  Songs. 


Wha  wadna  fight  for  Charlie  ?    &c. 
Now  our  Prince  has  reared  his  banner ! 

Now  triumphant  is  our  cause  ! 
Now  the  Scottish  Lion  raUies  ! 

Let  us  strike  for  Prince  and  laws ! 


CHARLIE,  HE  'S  MY  DARLING  ! 

'TwAS  on  a  Monday  morning, 

Right  early  in  the  year, 
That  Charlie  came  to  our  Town, 
The  young  Chevalier. 

And  Charlie,  he  's  my  darling ! 

My  darling !   my  darling  ! 
And  Charlie,  he  's  my  darhng! 
The  young  Chevaher! 

As  he  was  walking  up  the  street, 

The  City  for  to  view, 
O,  there  he  spied  a  bonny  Lass, 

The  window  looking  through. 

And  Charlie,  he   s  my  darling !   &c. 

Sae  light  's  he  jumped  up  the  stair, 

And  tirled  at  the  pin; 
And  wha  sae  ready  as  hersel 

To  let  the  Laddie  in  ! 

And  Charlie,  he  's  my  darling!    &c. 
32 


Il 


yacobite  Songs. 


He  set  his  Jenny  on  his  i-:nce, 

All  in  his   Highland  dress; 
For  brawly  wee)  he  ken'd  the  way 

To  please  a  bonny  Lass  ! 

And  Charlie,  he  's  my  darling !    &c. 


It  's  up  yon  heathery  mountain, 
And  down  yon  scroggy  glen ; 

We  daurna  gang  a  milking, 
For  Charlie  and  his  men! 

And  Charlie,  he  's  my  darling !    &c. 


JOHNNIE  COPE. 


Sn<  John  Cope  trode  the  North  right  far, 
Yet  ne'er  a  rebel  he  came  naur. 
Until  he  landed  at  Dunbar, 
Right  early  in  a  morning. 

Hey!    Johnnie  Cope!    are  ye  wauking  yet? 
Or  are  ye  sleeping  ?    I   would  wit  ! 
O,  haste  ye  !    get  up  !    for  the  drums  du  beat ! 
O,  fie!    Cope!    rise  in  the  morning! 

BRIT.  ANTH.  IX.  D  33 


yacobite  Songs. 


He  wrote  a  challenge  from  Dunbar, 
*  Come,  fight  me,  Charlie  !    an  ye  daiir ! 
If  it  be  not  by  the  chance  of  war, 
I'll  give  you  a  merry  morning ! ' 

Hey!  Johnnie  Cope!  are  ye  wauking  yet?    &c. 

When  Charlie  looked  the  letter  upon, 
He  drew  his  sword,  the  scabbard  from, 
*So  Heaven  restore  me  to  my  own, 
I'll  meet  you,  Cope  !   in  the  morning ! ' 

Hey !  Johnnie  Cope  !  are  ye  wauking  yet  ?    &c. 

Cope  swore,  with  many  a  bloody  word. 
That  he  would  fight  them,  gun  and  sword  I 
But  he  fled  frae  his  nest  like  an  ill-scared  bird  ;      | 
And  Johnnie,  he  took  wing  in  the  morning! 
Hey  !  Johnnie  Cope!   are  ye  wauking  yet  ?   &c. 

It  was  upon  an  afternoon, 
Sir  Johnnie  marched  to  Preston  town. 
He  says,  '  My  lads !    come  lean  you  down ; 
And  we'll  fight  the  boys  in  the  morning ! ' 

Hey  !   Johnnie  Cope  !  are  ye  wauking  yet  ?   &c. 

But  when  he  saw  the  Highland  lads, 
Wi'  tartan  trews  and  white  cockades, 
Wi'  swords,  and  guns,  and  rungs,  and  gauds, 
O,  Johnnie!    he  took  wing  in  the  morning! 
Hey  1  Johnnie  Cope  !  are  ye  wauking  yet  ?   &c. 
34 


y-acobite  Songs. 


On  the  morrow,  when  he  did  rise, 
He  looked  between  him  and  the  skies. 
He  saw  them  wi'  their  naked  thighs; 
Which  feared  him  in  the  morning. 

Hey!   Johnnie  Cope!  are  ye  wauking  yet  ?   &c. 

O,  then,  he  fled  into  Dunbar, 
Crying  for  a  Man  of  War, 
He  thought  to  have  passed  for  a  rustic  tar  ; 
And  gotten  awa  in  the  morning. 

Hey  !   Johnnie  Cope  !  are  ye  wauking  yet }   &c. 

Sir  Johnnie,  into  Berwick  rade, 

Just  as  the  De'il  had  been  his  guide! 

Gi'cn  him  the  warld,  he  wadna  staid 

T'  have  foughten  the  boys  in  the  morning ! 
Hey!   Johnnie  Cope  !  are  ye  wauking  yet  ?    &c. 

Says  the  Berwickers  unto  Sir  John, 
'  O,  what  's  become  of  all  your  men  ? ' 
•  In  faith  ! '    says  he,  '  I  dinna  ken  I 
I  left  them  a'  this  morning!' 

Hey!   Johnnie  Cope!   are  ye  wauking  yet  ?    &c. 

Says  Lord  Mark  Car,  '  Ye  are  na  blate 
To  bring  us  the  news  o'  your  ain  defeat ! 
I   think  you  deserve  the  back  o'  the  gate  ! 
Get  out  o'   my  sight,  this  morning  1 ' 

Hey  !   Johnnie  Copk  !  are  ye  wauking  yet  ?  &c 

D2  35 


yacobite  Songs. 


WILL   HE  NO   COME  BACK  AGAIN? 


Royal  Charlie  's  now  awa, 

Safely  owre  the  friendly  Main 
Mony  a  heart  will  break  in  twa, 
Should  he  ne'er  come  back  again! 
*  Will  you  no  come  back  again  ? 
Will  you  no  come  back  again  ? 
Better  lo'ed  you'll  never  be ! 
And  will  you  no  come  back  again  ? ' 


Mony  a  traitor,  'mang  the  Isles, 

Brak  the  band  o'  Nature's  law! 
Mony  a  traitor,  wi'  his  wiles, 
Sought  to  wear  his  life  awa! 

Will  he  no  come  back  again  ? 
Will  he  no  come  back  again  ? 
Better  lo'ed  he'll  never  be ! 


36 


And  will  he  no  come  back  again  ? 


yacobitc  Songs. 


The  hills  he  trode  were  a'  his  ain ; 

And  bed  beneadi  die  birken  tree ! 
The  bush  diat  hid  him  on  the  plain, 

There  's  none  on  earth  can  claim  but  he ! 
Will  he  no  come  back  again  ?    &c. 


Whene'er  I  hear  the  blackbird  sing 

Unto  the  e'ening  sinking  down, 
Or  merl,  that  makes  the  woods  to  ring ; 

To  me,  they  hae  nae  ither  soun' 

Than,  '  Will  he  no  come  back  again  ? '  &c. 


Mony  a  gallant  Sodger  fought ! 

Mony  a  gallant  Chief  did  fa' ! 
Death  itself  were  dearly  bought, 

A'  for  Scotland's  King  and  Law! 

Will  he  no  come  back  again  ?  &c. 


Sweet  the  lav' rock's  note,  and  lang, 

Lilting  wildly  up  the  glen, 
And  aye  the  o'erword  o'  the  sang 

Is  'Will  he  no  come  back  again?* 

Will  he  no  come  back  again  ?  &c. 


37 


Arthur  Bradley. 


THE   MORNING-BREAK. 

Awake,  ye  drowsy  Swains  !   awake  I 
Behold  the  beauteous  Morning-break ! 
Aurora's  mantle  grey  appears  ; 
And  harmony  salutes  the  ears! 

The  Lark  has  soared  a  wondrous  height, 
And,  warbling,  wings  her  airy  flight. 
The  birds,  soft-brooding  o'er  their  nests, 
Instruct  their  young  from  tuneful  breasts. 

A  thousand  beauties  fill  the  plains ! 
Each  twig  affords  melodious  strains ! 
Through  every  eastern  tree  and  bush, 
The  virgin  Day  appears  to  blush  ! 

Already  Damon,  with  his  crook. 
Attends  his  flock  at  yonder  brook : 
The  charming  Chloe  's  by  his  side. 
Of  all  the  Nymphs  the  Shepherd's  pride. 

While  rural  Swains  enjoy  the  Morn, 
And  laugh  at  ev'ry  Courtier's  scorn ! 
Nor  envy  their  voluptuous  way ; 
But,  while  they  sleep,  enjoy  the  day! 

33  


ll'lllia)}!  Sli€)isto)ie. 


»  A  BALLAD. 

From  Lincoln  to  London  rode  forth  our  young  Squire, 
\o  brinnf  down  a  Wife  whom  the  swains  micrht  admire  : 
But,  in  spite  of  whatever  the  Mortal  could  say, 
The  Goddess  objected  the  length  of  the  way ! 

■  To  give  up  the  Op'ra,  the  Park,  and  the  Ball, 

For  to  view  the  stags'  horns  in  an  old  country  Hall ! 

To  have  neither  China,  nor  India,  to  see  ; 

Nor  a  lace-man  to  plague  in  a  morning : — not  she ! 

To  forsake  the  dear  Play-house,  Quin,  Garrick,  and 

Clive  ; 
Who,  by  dint  of  mere  humour,  had  kept  her  alive ! 

fo  forgo  the  full  Box  for  his  lonesome  abode ; 
O, heavens!  she  should  faint, she  should  die,  on  the  road! 

■  To  forget  the  gay  fashions  and  gestures  of  France ; 
And  to  leave  dear  Auguste,  in  the  midst  of  the  dance  ! 
And  Harlequin  too  !    'Twas  in  vain  to  require  it! 
And  she  wondered, how  folks  had  the  face  to  desire  it!. . . 

'  To  be  sure,  she  could  breathe  nowhere  else  than  in 

Town ! ' 
Thus  she  talked  like  a  Wit;  and  he  looked  like  a  Clown. 
But  the  while  honest  Harry  despaired  to  succeed, 
A  coach  with  a  coronet  trailed  her  to  Tweed! 

39 


PVilliani  Shenstone. 


JEMMY  DA  WSON. 
A  Ballad 

WRITTEN    ABOUT    THE    TIME    OF   HIS   EXECUTION, 
IN    THE    VEAR   174-5. 

Come,  listen  to  my  mournful  Tale, 
Ye  tender  hearts  and  Lovers  dear ! 

Nor  will  you  scorn  to  heave  a  sigh  ; 
Nor  need  you  blush  to  shed  a  tear! 

And  thou,  dear  Kitty  !    peerless  Maid ! 

Do  thou,  a  pensive  ear  incline ! 
For  thou  canst  weep  at  every  woe ; 

And  pity  every  plaint ; — but  mine  ! 

Young  Dawson  was  a  gallant  boy, 
A  brighter  never  trod  the  plain ! 

And  well  he  loved  one  charming  Maid ; 
And  dearly  was  he  loved  again ! 

One  tender  Maid,  she  loved  him  dear! 

Of  gentle  blood,  the  Damsel  came ; 
And  faultless  was  her  beauteous  form, 

And  spotless  was  her  virgin  fame ! 
40 


Jf'lIIii 7  }ii  She  11  stone. 


But  curse  on   Party's  hateful  strife, 
That  led  the  favoured  Youth  astray ! 

The  day  the  Rebel  Clans  appeared 
(O,  had  he  never  seen  that  day!), 

Their  colours  and  their  sash  he  wore ; 

And  in  the  fatal  dress  was   found  : 
And  now  he  must  that  death  endure, 

Which  gives  the  brave  the  keenest  wound 

How  pale  was  then  his  True  Love's  cheek, 
When  Jemmy's  sentence  reached  her  ear! 

For  never  yet  did  Alpine  snows 
So  pale,  or  yet  so  chill,  appear ! 

With  faltering  voice,  she  weeping  said, 
'O,   Dawson!    Monarch  of  my  heart! 

Think  not  thy  death  shall  end  our  loves ; 
For  thou  and  I   will  never  part ! 

'  Yet  might  sweet  mercy  find  a  place, 
And  bring  relief  to  Jemmy's  woes; 

O,  George!    without  a  prayer  for  thee, 
My  orisons  should  never  close ! 

'  The  gracious   Prince  that  gave  him  life. 
Would  crown  a  never-dying  flame  ! 

And  every  tender  babe   I   bore. 

Should  learn   to  lisj)  the  giver's   name  ! 

41 


U^illiafn  Shenstoite. 


'  But  though  he  should  be  dragged,  in  scorn, 

To  yonder  ignominious  tree ; 
He  shall  not  want  one  constant  friend 

To  share  the  cruel  Fates'  decree ! ' 

O,  then  her  mourning  coach  was  called. 

The  sledge  moved  slowly  on  before ; 
Though  borne  in  a  triumphal  car, 

She  had  not  loved  her  fav'rite   more ! 

She  followed  him,  prepared  to  view 

The  terrible  behests  of  Law : 
And  the  last  scene  of  Jemmy's  woes, 

With  calm  and  steadfast  eye  she  saw. 

Distorted  was  that  blooming  face, 

Which  she  had  fondly  loved  so  long! 

And  stifled  was  that  tuneful  breath, 
Which  in  her  praise  had  sweetly  sung ! 

And  severed  was  that  beauteous  neck, 

Round  which  her  arms  had  fondly  closed ! 

And  mangled  was  that  beauteous  breast, 
On  which  her  lovesick  head  reposed ! 

And  ravished  was  that  constant  heart, 

She  did  to  ev'ry  heart  prefer! 
For  though  it  could  its  King  forget, 

'Twas  true  and  loyal  still  to  her! 
42 


IVilliam  She n stone. 


Amid  those  unrelenting  tlames, 

She  bore  this  constant  heart  to  see  ; 

But  when  'twas  mouldered  into  dust, 
'  Yet,  yet,'  she  cried,  *  I  follow  thee ! 

'  My  death,  my  death  alone  can  shew 
The  pure,  the  lasting,  love  I  bore ! 

Accept.  O,   Heaven!    of  woes  like  ours; 
And  let  us,  let  us,  weep  no  more ! ' 

The  dismal  scene  was  o'er  and  past. 

The  Lover's  mournful  hearse  retired. 
The  Maid  drew  back  her  languid  head, 

And,  sighing  forth  his  name,  expired. 

Though  Justice  ever  must  prevail. 

The  tear  my  Kitty  sheds  is  due  I 
For  seldom  shall  she  hear  a  Tale 

So  sad,  so  tender,  yet  so  true ! 


43 


William  Shenstone. 


I  TOLD  my  Nymph,   I  told  her  true, 
*  My  fields  were  small,  my  flocks  were  few ' ; 
While  faltering  accents  spoke  my  fear 
That  Flavia  might  not  prove  sincere. 


*  Of  crops  destroyed  by  vernal  cold, 
And  vagrant  sheep  that  left  my  fold.' 
Of  these  she  heard,  and  bore  to  hear ; 
And  is  not  Flavia  then  sincere  ? 


*  How,  changed  by  Fortune's  fickle  wind, 
The  friends  I  loved  became  unkind.' 
She  heard,  and  shed  a  generous  tear; 
And  is  not  Flavia  then  sincere  ? 


*  How,  if  she  deigned  my  love  to  bless ; 
My  Flavia  must  not  hope  for  dress!' 
This  too  she  heard,  and  smiled  to  hear ; 
And  Flavia,  sure,  must  be  sincere! 


Go,  shear  your  flocks,  ye  jovial  Swains! 
Go,  reap  the  plenty  of  your  pains! 
Despoiled  of  all  which  you  revere, 
I  know,  my  Flavia's  love  's  sincere ! 
44  


//  llliam  Slien stone. 


'  Here,  in  cool  grot  and  mossy  cell, 
We  rural   Fays  and  Fairies  dwell  ! 
Though  rarely  seen  by  mortal  eye  ; 
When  the  pale  moon,  ascending  high, 
Darts  through  yon  limes  her  quivering  beams, 
We  frisk  it  near  these  crj'^stal  streams! 

*  Her  beams,  reflected  from  the  wave, 
Afford  the  light  our  Revels  crave. 
The  turf,  with  daisies  broidered  o'er, 
Exceeds,  we  wot,  the  Parian  floor! 
Nor  yet  for  artful  strains  we  call ; 
But  listen  to  the  water's  fall. 

'  Would  you  then  taste  our  tranquil  scene ; 
Be  sure,  your  bosoms  be  serene  ! 
Devoid  of  hate  !    devoid  of  strife  ! 
Devoid  of  all  that  poisons  life  I 
And  much  it  'vails  you,  in  their  place, 
To  graft  the  love  of  human  race ! 

'  And  tread  with  awe  these  favoured  bowers  ; 
Nor  wound  the  shrubs,  nor  bruise  the  flowers ! 
So  may  your  path,  with  sweets  abound  ! 
So  may  your  couch,  with   rest  be  crowned  ! 
Hut  harm  betide  the  wayward  Swain, 
Who  dares  our  hallowed  haunts  profane!' 

45 


Willimpi  Skenston. 


NANCY  OF  THE   VALE. 

The  western  sky  was  purpled  o'er 

With  every  pleasing  ray, 
And  flocks,  reviving,  felt  no  more 

The  sultry  heats  of  day; 

When,  from  a  hazel's  artless  bower, 
Soft-warbled  Strephon's  tongue ! 

He  blessed  the  scene,  he  blessed  the  hour. 
While  Nancy's  praise  he  sung. 

'Let  Fops,  with  fickle  falsehood  range 

The  paths  of  wanton  love ; 
While  weeping  Maids  lament  their  change, 

And  sadden  every  grove: 

*  But  endless  blessings  crown  the  day 

I  saw  fair  E 'sham's  dale ; 
And  every  blessing  find  its  way 

To  Nancy  of  the  Vale! 

'  'Twas  from  Avona's  banks,  the  Maid 

Diffused  her  lovely  beams; 
And  every  shining  glance  displayed 

The  Naiad  of  the  streams. 

'Soft  as  the  wild  duck's  tender  young, 

That  float  on  Avon's  tide; 
Bright  as  the  water-lily  sprung 

And  glittering  near  its  side. 
46 


IVilliam  Shcnstone. 


'  Fresh  as  the  bordering  flowers,  her  bloom  ; 

Her  eye,  all  mild  to  view, 
The  little  halcyon's  azure  plume 

Was  never  half  so  blue ! 

'  Her  shape  was  like  the  reed  so  sleek, 

So  taper,  straight,  and  fair! 
Her  dimpled  smile,  her  blushing  cheek, 

How  charming  sweet  they  were! 

'  Far  in  the  winding  Vale  retired, 

This  peerless  bud  I  found ; 
And  shadowing  rocks  and  woods  conspired 

To  fence  her  beauties  round. 

'  That  Nature,  in  so  lone  a  dell, 
Should  form  a  Nymph  so  sweet! 

Or  Fortune,  to  her  secret  cell 
Conduct  my  wandering  feet ! 

'  Gay  Lordlings  sought  her  for  their  Bride ; 

But  she  would  ne'er  incline  I 
*'  Prove  to  your  equals  true ! "    she  cried, 

"As  I  will  prove  to  mine! 

•"'Tis  Strepiion,  on  the  mountain's  brow, 

Has  won  my  right  good  will ; 
To  him   I   gave  my  plighted  vow! 

With  him,   I'll  climb  the  hill  !" 

47 


IVilliam  Shenstoiie. 


'  Struck  with  her  charms  and  gentle  truth, 

I  clasped  the  constant  Fair ! 
To  her  alone,   I  gave  my  youth  ; 

And  vow  my  future  care ! 

*And  when  this  vow  shall  faithless  prove, 

Or  I  those  charms  forgo ; 
The  stream  that  saw  our  tender  love, 

That  stream  shall  cease  to  flow !  * 


*  Perhaps,  it  is  not  Love,'  said  I, 
'  That  melts  my  soul  when  Flavia  *s   nigh 
Where  Wit  and  Sense  like  hers  agree, 
One  may  be  pleased,  and  yet  be  free ! 

'  The  beauties  of  her  polished  mind, 
It  needs  no  Lover's  eye  to  find! 
The  Hermit,  freezing  in  his  cell. 
Might  wish  the  gentle  Flavia  well ! 

'  It  is  not  Love ! '   averse  to  bear 
The  servile  chain  that  Lovers  wear, 
'  Let,  let  me  all  my  fears  remove ! 
My  doubts  dispel !    It  is  not  Love ! 

'  O,  when  did  Wit  so  brightly  shine 
In  any  Form  less  fair  than  thine  ? 
It  is — it  is  Love's  subtle  fire ! 
And  under  friendship  lurks  desire ! ' 
4S  


IVilliiDn  SJicnstoiic. 


THE  ATTRIBUTE   OF   VENUS. 

Yes!    Fulvta  is  like  Venus  fair! 
Has  all  her  bloom,  and  shape,  and  Air! 
But  still,  to  perfect  every  grace, 
She  wants — the  smile  upon  her  face ! 


The  crown  majestic  Juno  wore, 

And  Cynthia's  brow  the  crescent  bore ! 

A  helmet  marked  Minerva's  mien  ; 

But  smiles  distinguished  Beauty's  Queen ! 


Her  Train  was  formed  of  Smiles  and  Loves, 
Her  chariot  drawn  by  gentlest  doves  ; 
And  from  her  zone,  the  Nymph  may  find 
'Tis  Beauty's  province  to  be  kind ! 


Then,  smile,  my  Fair !    and  all  whose  aim 
Aspires  to  paint  the  Cyprian  Dame, 
Or  bid  her  breathe  in  living  stone, 
Shall  take  their  Forms  from  you  alone  ! 


BKIT.    ANTH.    tX.  B  49 


AiionynioMs. 


A   SOLDIER'S  SONG. 

\General  James   Wolfe  s  Song. 

So    CALLED,    because   IT   IS    TRADITIONALLY   STATED 

TO    HAVE    BEEN    SUNG    BY   HIM,    ON    THE    NIGHT   BEFORE 

HE    WAS    KILLED    AT    THE    BaTTLE    OF    QuEBEC, 

September  13,  1759.] 


How  stands  the  Glass  around  ? 
For  shame !    ye  take  no  care,  my  Boys ! 

How  stands  the  Glass  around  ? 

Let  Mirth  and  Wine  abound ! 

The  trumpets  sound ! 
The  Colours,  they  are  flying.   Boys ! 

To  fight,  kill  or  wound, 

May  we  still  be  found ! 
Content  with  our  hard  fate,  my  Boys  ! 

On  the  cold  ground ! 


50 


A}wnv}}wus. 


Why,  Soldiers !    why 
Should  we  be  melancholy,  Boys  ? 

Why,   Soldiers !    why  ? 

Whose  business  'tis  to  die  ! 

What!    siLihino- !    Fie! 
Hang  fear!     Drink  on!    be  jolly,   Boys  I 

'Tis  he !    you  !    or  I ! 

Cold,  hot,  wet,  or  dry; 
We're  always  bound  to  follow,  Boys ! 

And  scorn  to  fly! 


'Tis  but  in  vain  ! 
I   mean  not  to  upbraid  )e,  Boys ! 

'Tis  but  in  vain 

For  Soldiers  to  complain! 

Should  next  Campaign 
Send  us  to  Him  who  made  us.   Boys! 

We're  free  from  pain! 

But  if  we  remain, 
A  bottle  and  kind  landlady 

Cure  all  again  ! 


E    2  51 


Anonymous. 


THE  FORSAKEN  NYMPH. 

Guardian  Angels !  now  protect  me  I 

Send  to  me,  the  Swain  I  love ! 
Cupid  !   with  thy  bow,  direct  me ! 

Help  me,  all  ye  Powers  above! 
Bear  him  my  sighs,  yet  gentle  breezes! 

Tell  him,   I   love,  and  I  despair! 
Tell  him,  For  him  I  grieve !   Say,  'Tis  for  him  I  live 

O,  may  the  Shepherd  be  sincere! 

Through  the  shady  grove  I'll  wander, 

Silent  as  the  bird  of  nig-ht ! 
Near  the  brink  of  yonder  fountain, 

First  Leander  blessed  my  sight! 
Witness,  ye  groves  and  falls  of  water! 

Echo,  repeat  the  vows  he  swore  ! 
Can  he  forget  me  ?    Will  he  neglect  me  ? 

Shall  I  never  see  him  more  ? 

Does  he  love,  and  yet  forsake  me, 

To  admire  a  Nymph  more  fair? 
If  'tis  so,   I'll  wear  the  willow; 

And  esteem  the  happy  pair ! 
Some  lonely  cave,   I'll  make  my  dwelling! 

Ne'er  more  the  cares  of  life  pursue ! 
The  lark  and  Philomel  only  shall  hear  me  tell 

What  bids  me  bid  the  World  'Adieu!' 
52  


IVillicDn  Collins. 


ABRA^  OR  THE  GEORGIAN  SULTANA. 

Scene — A  Eorest. 
Time — The  Evening. 

In  Georgia's  land,  where  Tiflis'  towers  are  seen 
In  distant  view  along  the  level  green, 
While  evening  dews  enrich  the  glitt'ring  glade, 
And  the  tall  forests  cast  a  longer  shade; 
What  time  'tis  sweet  o'er  fields  of  rice  to  stray, 
Or  scent  the  breathing  maize  at  setting  day  ; 
Amidst  the  maids  of  Zagen's  peaceful  grove, 
Emyra  sang  the  pleasing  cares  of  Love. 

'  Of  Abra,'  first  began  the  tender  strain, 
'Who  led  her  youth  with  flocks  upon  the  plain. 
At  morn,  she  came  those  willing  flocks  to  lead 
Where  lilies  rear  them  in  the  wat'ry  mead  ; 
From  early  dawn,  the  life-long  hours  she  told, 
Till  late,  at  silent  eve,  she  penned  the  fold. 

*  Deep  in  the  grove,  beneath  the  secret  shade, 
A  various  wreath  of  od'rous  flowers  she  made  : 
Gay  mottled  pinks  and  sweet  jonquils  she  chose, 
The  violet  blue,  that  on  the  moss-bank  grows, 
All  sweet  to  sense,  the   flaunting  rose  was  there. 
The  finished  chaplct  well  adorned  her  hair. 

53 


IVilliam  Collins. 


'Great  Abbas  chanced,  that  fated  morn,  to  stray; 
By  love  conducted  from  the  chase  away. 
Among  the  vocal  vales,  he  heard  her  Song ; 
And  sought  the  vales  and  echoing  groves  among. 
At  length,  he  found,  and  wooed,  the  rural  Maid. 
She  knew  the  Monarch ;   and  with  fear  obeyed. 

Be  every  Youth,  like  royal  Abbas  moved; 

And  every  Georgian  Maid,  like  Abra  loved ! 


'  The  royal  Lover  bore  her  from  the  plain ; 
Yet  still  her  crook  and  bleating  flock  remain. 
Oft,  as  she  went,  she  backward  turned  her  view ; 
And  bade  that  crook  and  bleating  flock.  Adieu ! 
Fair  happy  Maid !    To  other  scenes  remove, 
To  richer  scenes  of  golden  power  and  love ! 
Go,  leave  the  simple  pipe,  and  shepherd's  strain! 
With  love  delight  thee !    and  with  Abbas  reign ! 

Be  every  Youth,  like  royal  Abbas  moved ; 

And  every  Georgian  Maid,  like  Abra  loved ! 


*  Yet,  'midst  the  blaze  of  Courts,  she  fixed  her  love 
On  the  cool  fountain,  or  the  shady  grove ! 
Still,  with  the  shepherd's  innocence,  her  mind 
To  the  sweet  vale,  and  flowery  mead,  inclined ! 
And,  oft  as  Spring  renewed  the  plains  with  flowers. 
Breathed  his  soft  gales,  and  led  the  fragrant  hours, 
With  sure  return,  she  sought  the  sylvan  scene, 
The  breezy  mountains,  and  the  forests  green, 
54 


llllliam  Collhis. 


Her  maids  around  her  moved,  a  duteous  band ; 
Each  bore  a  crook  all  rural  in  her  hand. 
Some  simple  Lay  of  flocks  and  herds  they  sung; 
With  joy  the  mountain  and  the  forest  rung ! 

Be  every  Youth,  like  royal  Abbas  moved  ; 

And  every  Georgian  Maid,  like  Abra  loved ! 


'  And  oft  the  royal  Lover  left  the  care 
And  thorns  of  State,  attendant  on  the  Fair; 
Oft  to  the  shades  and  low-roofed  cots  retired, 
Or  sought  the  vale  where  first  his  heart  was  fired. 
A  russet  mantle,  like  a  Swain,  he  wore ; 
And  thought  of  Crowns  and  busy  Courts  no  more. 
Be  every  Youth,  like  royal  Abbas  moved; 
And  every  Georgian  Maid,  like  Abra  loved ! 


'  Blessed  was  the  life  the  royal  Abbas  led ; 
Sweet  was  his  love,  and  innocent  his  bed. 
What  if  in  wealth  the  noble  Maid  excel ; 
The  simple  Shepherd  Girl  can  love  as  well ! 
Let  those  who  rule  on   Persia's  jewelled  throne, 
Be  famed  for  love !    and  crentlest  love  alone ! 

o 

Or  wreathe,  like  Abbas,  full  of  fair  renown, 
The  Lover's  myrtle  with  the  Warrior's  crown ! 
"  O,  happy  days  ! "    the  maids  around  her  say, 
"  O,  haste,  profuse  of  blessings,  haste  away!" 

Be  every   Youth,  like   royal   Abi^as  moved  ; 

And  every  Georgian  Maid,  like  Abra  loved! 

55 


JVilliam  Collins. 


ODE  TO  EVENING. 

If  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  Pastoral  Song 

May  hope,  O,  pensive  Eve !    to  soothe  thine  ear, 

Like  thy  own  brawhng  springs. 

Thy  springs,  and  dying  gales, 
O,  Nymph  reserved  !  while,  now,  the  bright-haired  sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent ;    whose  cloudy  skirts, 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 

O'erhang  his  wavy  bed ; 
Now,  air  is  hushed,  save  where  the  weak-eyed  bat, 
With  short  shrill  shriek,  flits  by  on  leathern  wing; 

Or  where  the  beetle  winds 

His  small  but  sullen  horn, 
As  oft  he  rises,  'midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum: 

Now,  teach  me.  Maid  composed  ! 

To  breathe  some  softened  strain ; 
Whose  Numbers,  stealing  through  thy  dark'ning  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit, 

As,  musing  slow,   I  hail 

Thy  genial  loved  return ! 

For  when  thy  folding  star,  arising,  shows 
His  paly  circlet;   at  his  warning  lamp, 

The  fragrant  Hours,  and  Elves 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day, 
56 


IViirniiu   CoUius. 


And  many  a  Nymph  who  wreathes  her  brows  with  sedge 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,   and   (loveher  still!) 

The   Pensive   Pleasures  sweet, 

Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

Then,  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene ; 
Or  find  some  ruin,  'midst  its  dreary  dells, 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 

By  thy  religious  gleams ! 
Or  if  chill  blust'ring  winds,  or  driving  rain, 
Prevent  m)-  willing  feet ;    be  mine  the  hut 

That,  from  the  mountain's  side, 
^  Views  wilds,  and  swelling  floods, 

And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discovered  spires ! 
And  hears  their  simple  bell !    and  marks  o'er  all 
W  Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 

The  gradual  dusky  veil ! 

While  Spring  shall  pour  his  showers,  as  oft  he  wont, 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve! 

While  Summer  loves  to  sport 

Beneath  thy  ling'ring  light ; 
While   sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air, 

Affrights  thy  shrinking  Train, 

And  rudely  rends  thy  robes : 
So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule, 
■-ihall   P'ancy,  Friendship,  Science,  smiling   Peace, 

1  hy  gentlest  influence  own, 

And  love  thy  fav'rite  name  I 

57 


Willimn  Collins. 


ODE 

Written  in  the  beginning  of  the  year 

1746. 

How  sleep  the  Brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  Country's  wishes  blest! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod ! 


By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung! 
By  Forms  unseen  their  Dirge  is  sung! 
There,   Honour  comes,  a  Pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ! 
And  Freedom  shall  a  while  repair, 
To  dwell,  a  weeping  Hermit,  there! 


58 


Rev.  Alexander  Webstey,  D.D. 


O,  HOW  could  I  venture  to  love  one  like  thee, 
Or  thou  not  despise  a  poor  conquest  like  me  ? 
On   Lords,  thy  admirers,  could  look  with   disdain  ; 
And,  though   I  was  nothing,  yet  pity  my  pain  ? 


You  said,  when  they  teased  you  with  nonsense  and  dress, 
'  When  real  the  Passion,  the  vanity  's  less !  ' 
You  saw  through  that  silence,  which  others  despise; 
And,  while  Beaus  were  prating,  read  love  in  my  eyes ! 


O,  where  is  the  Nymph  that,  like  thee,  can  ne'er  cloy ; 

Whose  wit  can  enliven  the  dull  pause  of  joy  ? 
^    And  when  the  sweet  transport  is  all  at  an  end, 
"  From  beautiful  Mistress,  turn  sensible  Friend  ? 


When   I  see  thee,  I   love  thee ;    but  hearing,  adore ! 
I   wonder,  and  think  you  a  woman  no   more  ! 
Till,   mad  with  admiring,    I  cannot  contain ; 
And  kissing  those  lips,  find  you  woman  again  ! 


In  all   that   I   write,   I'll  thy  judgement  require! 
Thy  taste  shall  correct,  what  thy  love  did  inspire  ! 
I'll  kiss  thee,  and  press  thee,  till  youth  is  all  o'er; 
And  then  live  on  Friendship,  when  Passion  's  no  more! 

59 


Anonymous. 


THE  JOLLY  TOPER. 

The  Women  all  tell  me,  I'm  false  to  my  Lass; 
That  I  quit  my  poor  Chloe,  and  stick  to  my  Glass 
But  to  you,  Men  of  Reason,  my  reasons   I'll  own  ; 
And  if  you  don't  like  them,  why,  let  them  alone ! 


Although  I  have  left  her,  the  truth  I'll  declare ! 
I  believe  she  was  good ;   and  am  sure  she  was  fair 
But  goodness  and  charms  in  a  Bumper  I  see. 
That  make  it  as  good  and  as  charming  as  she  ! 


My  Chloe  had  dimples  and  smiles,  I  must  own ! 
But  though  she  could  smile ;   yet,  in  truth,  she  could 

frown : 
But  tell  me,  ye  lovers  of  liquor  divine ! 
Did  you  e'er  see  a  frown  in  a  Bumper  of  Wine  ? 


Her  lilies  and  roses  were  just  in  their  prime ; 
Yet  lilies  and  roses  are  conquered  by  time ! 
But  in  Wine,  from  its  age  such  a  benefit  flows. 
That  we  like  it  the  better,  the  older  it  grows ! 
60 


Ajwuvjuous. 


They  tell  me,  my  love  would  in  time  have  been  cloyed  ; 
And  that  beauty  's  insipid,  when  once  'tis  enjoyed  : 
But  in  Wine  I   both  time  and  enjoyment  defy ! 
For  the  longer  I  drink,  the  more  thirsty  am  I ! 


Let  Murders,  and  Battles,  and  History  prove 
The   mischiefs  that  wait  upon   Rivals  in   Love : 
But,  in  drinking,  thank  Heaven!   no  Rival  contends; 
For  the  more  we  love  liquor,  the  more  we  are  friends ! . . . 


We  shorten  our  days,  when  with  Love  we  engage ; 
It  brings  on  diseases,  and  hastens  old  age  : 
But  Wine,  from  grim   Death  can  its  votaries  save  ; 
And  keep  out  t'other  leg,  when  there  's  one  in  the 
grave  1 


Perhaps,  like  her  Sex,  ever  false  to  their  word, 
She  had  left  me,  to  get  an  estate,  or  a  Lord  : 
But  my  Bumper,  regarding  no  tides  nor  pelf, 
Will  stand  by  me,  while  I  can't  stand  by  myself 


Then,  let  my  dear  Chloe  no  longer  complain  ! 
She  's  rid  of  her  Lover;    and   I,  of  ni)'  p>iin  ! 
For  in   W^ine,  mighty  Wine!    many  comforts   I    spy! 
Should  you  doubt  what  I  say.  take  a   Humjxr  and  try! 

61 


C.  L.,  Esquire. 


The  morning  is  charming,  all  Nature  is  gay, 

Away,  my  brave  Boys!    to  your  horses,  away! 

For  the  prime  of  our  pleasure,  and  questing  the  Hare; 

We  have  not  so  much  as  a  moment  to  spare ! 

Chorus. 
Hark!    the  merry-toned  horn!   how  melodious  it  sounds 
To  the  musical  song  of  the  merry-mouthed  hounds! 

In  yon  stubble  field,  we  shall  find  her  below! 
'  Soho ! '   cries  the  Huntsman.     Hark  to  him,  '  Soho ! ' 
See,  see  where  she  goes;   and  the  hounds  have  a  view! 
Such  harmony  Handel  himself  never  knew! 

Chorus. 
Gates,  hedges,  and  ditches,  to  us  are  no  bounds ; 
But  the  world  is  our  own,  while  we  follow  the  hounds! 

Hold!    Hold!    'Tis  a  double!    Hark!   hey!   Tanner  hye! 
Though  a  thousand  gainsay  it,  a  thousand  shall  lie ! 
His  beauty  surpassing,  his  truth  has  been  tried ; 
At  the  head  of  the  pack,  an  infallible  guide! 

Chorus. 
To  his  cry,  the  wide  welkin  with  thunder  resounds; 
The  darling  of  hunters !   the  glory  of  hounds ! 

O'er  highlands  and  lowlands  and  woodlands  we  fly: 
Our  horses  full  speed,  and  our  hounds  in  full  cry! 
So  matched  are  their  mouths,  and  so  even  they  run. 
Like  the  Tune  of  the  Spheres,  and  their  race  with  the  sun. 

Chorus. 
Health,  Joy,  and  Felicity  dance  in  the  Rounds  ; 
And  bless  the  gay  circle  of  hunters  and  hounds! 
62 


C.  L.  luid  Aiio)iy}iious. 


The  old  hounds  push  forward,  a  very  sure  sign 

That  the  Hare,  though  a  stout  one,  begins  to  decline. 

A  chase  of  two  hours  or  more  she  has  led. 

She  's  down !  Look  about  you!  They  have  her!  '  Ware,  dead ! ' 

Chorus. 
How  glorious  a  death !    to  be  honoured  with  sounds 
Of  horns,  and  a  shout  to  the  chorus  of  hounds! 

Here  's  a  Health  to  all  Hunters,  and  long  be  their  lives! 
May  they  never  be  crossed  by  their  Sweethearts,  or  Wives ! 
May  they  rule  their  own  Passions  ;   and  ever  at  rest, 
As  the  most  happy  men,  be  they  also  the  best! 

Chor  us. 
And  free  from  the  care  which  the  many  surrounds, 
See  Heaven  at  the  last — when  they  see  no  more  hounds! 


^  CAPTAIN  DEATH. 

The  Muse  and  the  Hero  together  are  fired! 
The  same  noble  views  have  their  bosoms  inspired ! 
As  Freedom  they  love,  and  for  Glory  contend, 
The  Muse  o'er  the  Hero  still  mourns  as  a  friend. 
And  here  let  the  Muse,  her  poor  tribute  bequeath 
To  one   British   Hero !    'Tis  brave  Captain  Death  ! 

■        His  ship  was  the    Terrible,  dreadful  to  see! 
His  crew  were  as  brave  and  as  (gallant  as  he! 
Two  hundred,  or  more,  was  their  good  complement ; 
And,  sure,  braver  fellows  to  sea  never  went! 
Each  man  was  determined  to  spend  his  last  breath 
In  fighting  for  Britain,  and  brave  Captain  Death  I 

63 


Anonyinotis. 


A  prize  they  had  taken,  diminished  their  force  ; 
And  soon  the  good  prize-ship  was  lost  in  her  course. 
The  French   Privateer  and  the   Terrible  met. 
The  battle  began,  all  with  horror  beset. 
No  heart  was  dismayed,  each  was  bold  as  Macbeth  ; 
They  fought  for  old  England,  and  brave  Captain  Death! 

Fire,  thunder,  balls,  bullets,  were  seen,  heard,  and  felt. 
A  siorht  that  the  heart  of  Bellona  would  melt! 
The  shrouds  were  all  torn,  and  the  deck  filled  with 

blood ; 
And  scores  of  dead  bodies  were  thrown  in  the  flood. 
The  flood,  from  the  time  of  old  Noah  and  Seth, 
Ne'er  saw  such  a  man  as  our  brave  Captain  Death! 

At  last,  the  dread  bullet  came,  winged  with  its  fate. 
Our  brave  Captain  dropped  ;  and,  soon  after,  his  Mate. 
Each  Officer  fell ;  and  a  carnage  was  seen, 
That  soon  dyed  the  waves  to  a  crimson  from  green : 
And  Neptune  rose  up ;  and  he  pulled  off  his  wreath, 
And  gave  it  a  Triton,  to  crown  Captain  Death. 

Thus  fell  the  strong  Terrible,  bravely  and  bold ; 
But  sixteen  survivors,  the  tale  can  unfold. 
The  French  were  the  victors,  though  much  to  their  cost; 
For  many  brave  French  were  with  Englishmen  lost. 
And  this  says  old  Time,  '  From  good  Queen  Elizabeth, 
I  ne'er  saw  the  fellow  of  brave  Captain  Death  ! ' 
64  


ll^illiaui  Pitltcney,  Earl  of  Bath. 


ON   DOWAGER    LADY   E.     H D. 


Vain  are  the  charms  of  white  and  red. 

Which  divide  the  bloomincr  Fair ! 
Give  me  the   Nymph,  whose  snow  is  spread, 

Not  o'er  her  breast,  but  hair ! 


Of  smoother  cheeks,  the  winning  grace, 

As  open  forces   I  defy  ! 
But  in  the  wrinkles  of  her  face, 

Cupids,  as  in  ambush,  He ! 


If  naked  eyes  set  hearts  on  blaze. 

And  am'rous  warmth  inspire  ; 
Through  glass  who  darts  her  pointed  rays, 

Lights  up  a  fiercer   fire ! 

Nor  happy   Rivals,  nor  the  train 

Of  num'rous  years,  my  bliss  destroys ! 

Alive,  she  gives  no  jealous  pain ; 
And  then,  to  please  me,  dies ! 


f  »IT.  AVTH     fX.  )•  65 


William  Pulleney,  Earl  of  Bath. 


STRAWBERRY  HILL, 


Some  cry  up  Gunnersbury ! 

For  Sion  some  declare ! 
Some  say,  with  Chiswick  House 

No  Villa  can  compare ! 
But  ask  the  Beaus  of  Middlesex, 

Who  know  the  country  well. 
If  Strawberry  Hill,  if  Strawberry  Hill 

Don't  bear  away  the  bell  ? 


Some  love  to  roll  down  Greenwich  Hill, 

For  this  thing,  and  for  that; 
And  some  prefer  sweet  Marble  Hill, 

Though,  sure,  'tis  somewhat  flat! 
Yet  Marble  Hill  and  Greenwich  Hill, 

If  Kitty  Clive  can  tell, 
From  Strawberry  Hill,  from  Strawberry  Hill 

Will  never  bear  the  bell ! 
66 


IVilliam  Pulteney,  Earl  of  Bath, 

Though  Surrey  boasts  its  Oatlands, 

And  Clermont  kept  so  jim  ; 
And  some  prefer  sweet  Southcoats  : 

'Tis  but  a  dainty  whim ! 
But  ask  the  gallant  Bristol, 

Who  doth  in  taste  excel. 
If  Strawberry   Hill,  if  Strawberry  Hill 

Don't  bear  away  the  bell  ? 


Since  Deniiam  sang  of  Cooper's, 

There  's  scarce  a  Hill  around, 
But  what,  in  Song,  or  Ditty, 

Is  turned  to  fairy  ground ! 
Ah  !    peace  be  with  their  memory ! 

I   wish  them  wondrous  well ! 
But  Strawberry  Hill,  but  Strawberry  Hill 

Will  ever  bear  the  bell ! 


Great  William  dwells  at  Windsor, 

As  Edward  did  of  old ; 
And  many  a  Gaul,  and  many  a  Scot, 

Have  found  him  full  as  bold! 
On  lofty  hills  like  Windsor, 

Such   Heroes  ought  to  dwell; 
Yet  the  little  folks  on   Strawberry   Hill 

Like  Strawberry   Hill  as  well! 

F  2  67 


The  Earls  of  Bath  and  Chesterfield. 


MOLLY  LEPELL. 


A  Ballad. 


The  Muses,  quite  jaded  with  rhyming, 

To  Molly  Mogg  bid  a  farewell;   seeVoi.viii,p.i67. 

But  renew  their  sweet  melody  chiming 
To  the  name  of  dear  Molly  Lepell  .  .  . 


So  powerful  her  charms,  and  so  moving, 

They  would  warm  an  old  monk  in  his  cell ! 

Should  the  Pope  himself  ever  go  roving, 
He  would  follow  dear  Molly  Lepell!  .  .  . 


Had  I   Hanover,  Bremen,  and  Verden, 
And  likewise  the  Duchy  of  Zell ; 

I'd  part  with  them  all  for  a  farthing, 
To  have  my  dear  Molly  Lepell!  . 

68 


The  Earls  of  Bath  a}id  ChcsterficUi. 

Old  Orpheus,  that  Husband  so  civil, 
He  followed  his  Wife  down  to   Hell; 

And  who  would  not  gro  to  the  Devil, 
For  the  sake  of  dear  Molly  Lepell! 


Her  lips  and  her  breath  are  much  sweeter 
Than  the  thing  which  the   Latins  call  mcl ; 

Who  would  not  thus  pump  for  a  metre, 
To  chime  to  dear  Molly  Lepixl  !  .  .  . 


If  Curll  would  print  me  this  Sonnet, 
To  a  volume  my  verses  should  swell ! 

A  fig  for  what  Dennis  says  on  it ! 
He  can  never  find  fault  with  Lepell! 


Then   Handel  to  music  shall  set  it! 

Through   England  my   Ballad  shall  sell! 
And  all  the  World  readily  get  it, 

To  sing  to  the  praise  of  Lei'ell! 


69 


Philip  Dormer  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chesterfield. 


When   Fanny  blooming  fair 

First  caught  my  ravished  sight, 
Struck  with  her  shape  and  Air, 

I  felt  a  strange  delight! 
Whilst  eagerly  I  gazed,' 

Admiring  ev'ry  part, 
And  ev'ry  feature  praised, 

She  stole  into  my  heart ! 


In  her  bewitching  eyes. 

Ten  thousand  Loves  appeared  i 
There  Cupid  basking  lies ; 

His  shafts  are  hoarded  there ! 
Her  blooming  cheeks  are  dyed 

With  colour  all  their  own, 
Excelling  far  the  pride 

Of  roses  newly  blown! 


Her  well-turned  limbs  confess 

The  lucky  hand  of  Jove! 
Her  features  all  express 

The  beauteous  Queen  of  Love ! 
What  flames,  my  nerves  invade  ! 

When  I  behold  the  breast 
Of  that  too  charming  Maid 

Rise,   suing  to  be  prest. 
70 


Philip  Do }" filer  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chcsterjiehi. 

Venus  round  Fanny's  waist 

Has  her  own  Cestus  bound  ; 
With  guardian  Cupids  graced, 

Who  dance  the  circle  round. 
How  happy  must  he  be 

Who  shall  her  zone  unloose  ! 
That  bliss  to  all  but  me, 

May  Heaven  and  she  refuse! 


VERSES 

WRTTTEX    FN    A    LaLY  S    '  SheRLOCK^    ON    DeATH. 

Mistaken  Fair !    lay  Sherlock  by ! 

His  doctrine  is  deceiving! 
For  whilst  he  teaches  us  to  die, 

He  cheats  us  of  our  living! 

To  die,    s  a  lesson  we  shall  know 
Too  soon,  without  a  master ! 

Then,  let  us  only  study  now 
How  we  may  live  the  faster! 

To  live,  's  to  love !    to  bless !   be  blest 

With  mutual   inclination! 
Share  then  my  ardour  in  your  breast; 

And  kindly  meet  my   Passion! 

But  if  thus  blessed   I   may  not  live, 

And  pity  you  deny  ; 
To  me,  at  least,  your  Sherlock  give ! 

'Tis   I   must  learn  to  die  ! 

7X 


Philip  Dormer  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chesterfield. 


ADVICE  TO  A  LADY,  IN  AUTUMN. 

Asses'  milk,  half  a  pint,  take  at  seven,  or  before ! 
Then  sleep  for  an  hour,  or  two,  and  no  more ! 

At  nine,  stretch  your  arms  ;   and,  O,  think,  when  alone 
There  's  no  pleasure  in  bed  1     '  Mary  !    bring  me  my  gown  ! ' 
Slip  on  that,  ere  you  rise !     Let  your  caution  be  such, 
Keep  all  cold  from  your  breast ;  there  's  already  too  much ! 
Your  pinners  set  right,  your  twitcher  tied  on, 
Your  prayers  at  an  end,  and  your  breakfast  quite  done  ; 
Retire  to  some  Author  improving  and  gay. 
And,  with  sense  like  your  own,  set  your  mind  for  the  day! 

At  twelve,  you  may  walk !    For,  at  this  time  o'  th'  year, 
The  sun,  like  your  wit,  is  as  mild  as  'tis  clear  ; 
But  mark,  in  the  meadows,  the  ruin  of  time ; 
Take  the  hint,  and  let  life  be  improved  in  its  prime  ! 
Return  not  in  haste,  nor  of  dressing  take  heed  ; 
For  beauty,  like  yours,  no  assistance  can  need  ! 

With  an  appetite,  thus,  down  to  dinner  you  sit ; 
Where  the  chief  of  the  feast  is  the  flow  of  your  wit ! 
Let  this  be  indulged,  and  let  laughter  go  round  ; 
As  it  pleases  your  mind,  to  your  health  'twill  redound ! 
After  dinner,  two  Glasses,  at  least,  I  approve. 
Name  the  first  to  the  King !    and  the  last  to  your  Love  ! 

Thus,  cheerful  with  wisdom,  with  innocence  gay. 
And  calm  with  your  joys,  gently  glide  through  the  day ! 
The  dews  of  the  evening  most  carefully  shun  ! 
Those  tears  of  the  sky  for  the  loss  of  the  sun. 

Then,  in  chat,  or  at  play ;   with  a  dance,  or  a  Song ; 
Let  the  night,  like  the  day,  pass  with  pleasure  along ! 
All  cares,  but  of  Love,  banish  far  from  your  mind  ; 
And  those  you  may  end,  when  you  please  to  be  kind ! 
72  


Sitsaiiiia  Maria  Cibbcr. 


CYNTHIA'S  SONG. 

WuuLD  you,  \vith  her  you  love  be  blest? 

Ye  Lovers!    these  Instructions  mind! 
Conceal  the  Passion  in  your  breast ! 

Be  dumb,  insensible,  and  blind  ! 
But  ^vhen,  with  tender  looks  you  meet, 

And  see  the  artless  blushes  rise, 
Be  silent,  loving",  and  discreet ! 

The  Oracle  no  more  implies. 

When  once  you  prove  the  Maid  sincere, 

Where  Virtue  is  with  Beauty  joined; 
Then,  boldly  like  yourself  appear ! 

No  more  insensible,  or  blind  ! 
Pour  forth  the  transports  of  your  heart ; 

And  speak  your  soul  without  disguise ! 
'Tis  fondness,  fondness  must  impart! 

The  Oracle  no  more   implies. 

Though  pleasing,  fatal  is  the  snare 
That  still  entraps  all  Womankind! 

Ladies  !    beware  !    be  wise  !    take  care  ! 
Be  deaf,   insensible,  and  blind  ! 

But  should  some  fond  deserving  Youdi 
Agree  to  join  in  Hymen's  ties  ; 

Be  tender  I    constant !     Crown  his  truth  ! 

The  Oracle  no  more  implies.   .  .   . 

73 


Dean  Philip  Fletcher. 


NATURE  AND  FORTUNE. 
To  THE  Earl  of  Chesterfield. 

Nature  and  Fortune,  blithe  and  gay, 

To  pass  an  hour  or  two, 
In  frolic  mood,  agreed  to  play 

At   What  shall  this  man  do  f 


'Come,  I'll  be  Judge  then!'    Fortune  cries, 

'  And  therefore  must  be  blind.' 
Then  whipped  a  napkin  round  her  eyes, 

And  tied  it  fast  behind. 


Nature  had  now  prepared  her  List 

Of  Names  on  scraps  of  leather ; 
Which  rolled,  she  gave  them  each  a  twist, 


And  hustled  them  together. 


74 


Dcaii  Pliilip  F/ctc/icr. 


Thus  mixed,  whichever  came  to  hand 

She  very  surely  drew ; 
Then  bade  her  Sister  give  command 

For  what  that  man  should  do. 


'Twould  almost  burst  one's  sides  to  hear 
What  strange  commands  she  gave ! 

That  CiBBEK  should  the  Laurel  wear; 
And  C E,  an  army  have ! 


At  lenerth,  when  Stamiope's  name  was  come. 

Dame  Nature  smiled,  and  cried, 
'Now  tell  me,  Sister!    this  man's  doom; 

And  what  shall  him  betide!' 


'  That  man,'  said  Fortune,  '  shall  be  one 

Blessed  both  by  you  and  me  ! ' 
'Nay!    then,'  quoth   Nature,  'let  's  have  done! 

Sister!     I'm  sure  you  see!' 


75 


Anonymous. 


AN  ODE    TO  ECHO, 

Daughter  sweet  of  Voice  and  Air! 
Gentle  Echo  !    haste  thee  here, 
From  the  vale,  where  all  around 
Rocks  to  rocks  return  the  sound ; 
From  the  swelling  surge  that  roars 
'Gainst  the  tempest-beaten  shores ; 
From  the  silent  moss-grown  cell, 
Haunt  of  warbling  Philomel; 
Where,  unseen  of  Man,  you  lie, 
Queen  of  Woodland  Harmony! 
Daughter  sweet  of  Voice  and  Air ! 
Gentle  Echo  !    haste  thee  here ! 


Listen,   Nymph  divine  1    and  learn 
Strains  to  make  Narcissus  burn ! 
Hark!    The  Heavenly  Song  begins! 
Air,  be  still !     Breathe  soft,  ye  winds  ! 
Peace,  ye  noisy  feathered  Choir  I 
While  DiONE  strikes  the  lyre, 
See,  each  eye,  each  raptured  ear, 
Fixed  to  gaze,  and  charmed  to  hear ! 
All  around  enchantment  reigns. 
Such  the  magic  of  her  strains ! 
Strains  which,  if  thou  canst  but  learn, 
Soon  will  make  Narcissus  burn ! 
76 


Anonynwifs. 


Echo!    should  they  fail  to  move 
His  obdurate  heart  to  Love, 
Borrow  {for  she  well  can  spare  !), 
Borrow  her  enchanting  Air! 
Learn  her  ease  and  elegance 
Of  motion  in  the  airy  dance ! 
Learn  the  grace  with  which  she  strays 
Through  the  light  fantastic  maze ! 
Add  a  thousand  charms  untold, 
Should  Narcissus  still  be  cold ! 
Charms,  the  least  of  which  must  move 
His  obdurate  heart  to  Love  I 


THE  SHY  SHEPHERDESS. 

Shepherd!  \or  Strephon  !]  when  thou  seest  me  fly, 

Why  should  that,  thy  fear  create  ? 
Maids  may  be  as  often  shy 
Out  of  love,  as  out  of  hate! 
When  from  you   I   fly  away, 
'Tis  because  I  fear  to  stay ! 

Did   I  out  of  hatred  run. 

Less  would  be  my  pain  and  care! 
But  the  Youth   I   love,  to  shun, 
Who  that  could  such  a  trial  bear  ? 
And   that  such  a  Swain  did  see, 
Who  could  love  and  fly  like  me  ? 

77 


Anonymotts. 


Cruel  Duty  bids  me  go ! 

Gentle  Love  commands  my  stay! 
Duty  's  still  to  Love  a  foe! 
Shall  I  this,  or  that,  obey  ? 

Duty  frowns,  and  Cupid  smiles ! 
That  defends,  and  this  beguiles! 

Ever  by  this  crystal  stream, 

I  could  sit,  and  hear  thee  sigh  I 

Ravished  with  this  pleasing  dream ; 

O,  'tis  worse  than  death  to  fly! 

But  the  danger  is  so  great, 

Fear  gives  wings,  instead  of  feet! 

If  thou  lov'st  me.  Shepherd!   leave  me! 

If  I  stay,   I  am  undone  I 
O,  thou  mayst  with  ease  deceive  me! 
Prithee,  charming  Boy !    be  gone ! 
Heaven  decrees  that  we  must  part ! 
He  has  my  vow ;   and  thou,  my  heart 


THE  AMAZON. 

Swains,  I  scorn !    who,  nice  and  fair. 

Shiver  at  the  morning  air! 
Rough  and  hardy,  bold  and  free, 
Be  the  man  that  's  made  for  me ! 
78 


AnonyDWUs. 


Slaves  to  fashion,  slaves  to  dress, 
Fops,  themselves  alone  caress  ! 
Let  them  without  rival  be  ; 
They  are  not  the  men  for  me! 


He,  whose  nervous  arm  can  dart 
The  jav'lin  to  the  tiger's  heart, 
From  all  sense  of  danger  free, 
He  's  the  man  that  's  made  for  me! 


While  his  speed  outstrips  the  wind, 
Loosely  wave  his  locks  behind! 
From  fantastic  fopp'ry  free, 
He  's  the  man  that  's  made  for  me! 


Nor  simp'ring  smile,  nor  dimple  sleek, 
Spoil  his  manly  sun-burnt  cheek ; 
By  weather  let  him  painted  be  ! 
He  's  the  man  that  's  made  for  me! 


If  false  he  prove,   my  jav'lin  can 
Revenge  the  perjury  of  Man! 
And  soon  another,  brave  as  he. 
Shall  be  found  the  man  for  me! 


79 


Thomas  Gray. 


ODE 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    FAVOURITE    CaT,    DROWNED 

IN  A  TUB  OF  Gold  jFishes. 

'TwAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flowers,  that  blow ; 
The  pensive  Selima  reclined, 
Demurest  of  the  Tabby  kind. 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 


Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared. 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 

The  velvet  of  her  paws. 
The  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, 

She  saw ;   and  purred  applause. 


Still  had  she  gazed ;   but,  'midst  the  tide. 
Two  beauteous  forms  were  seen  to  glide, 

The  Genii  of  the  stream. 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue. 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 
Betrayed  a  golden  gleam. 
80 


Thomas  Gray. 


The  hapless   Nymph,  with  wonder  saw. 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched,  in  vain,  to  reach  the  prize 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  ! 

What  cat  s  a  foe  to  fish  ! 


Presumptuous  maid !    With  looks  intent, 
Again  she  siretched  I    again  she  bent ! 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between. 
(Malignant  Fate  sat  by,  and  smiled !) 
The  slipp'ry  verge,  her  feet  beguiled ; 

She  tumbled  headlong  in ! 


Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mewed  to  ev'ry  wat'ry  God, 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send  ! 
No  dolphin  came!    no   Nereid  stirred! 
Nor  cruel  Tom,  nor  Harry,  heard! 

What  lav'rite  has  a  friend! 


From  hence,  ye  Beauties !    undeceived. 
Know,  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved  ; 

And  be,  wiih  caution,  bold! 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wand'ring  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  prize ; 

Nor  all  that  glisters,  gold! 


Ul«n.    AN71I.   IX. 


8i 


Thomas  Gray. 


AN  ODE 

ON    A    DISTANT   PROSPECT   OF   EtON    CoLLEGE. 

Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crown  the  wat'ry  glade, 
Where  grateful  science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's  holy  shade! 
And  ye  that,  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights,  th'  expanse  below 
Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey ! 

Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among, 

Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  alom 
His  silver-winding  way! 


'g 


Ah !    happy  hills  !    Ah  !    pleasing  shade ! 

Ah  !    fields  beloved  in  vain  I 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain! 
I  feel  the  gales,  that  from  ye  blow, 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow; 
As,  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 

My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe; 

And,  redolent  of  Joy  and  Youth, 
To  breathe  a  second  Spring! 

Say,  father  Thames!    (for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race, 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green, 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace) 

82 


Thomas  Gray. 


Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave, 

With  pliant  arm,  thy  glassy  wave  ? 

The  captive  linnet,  which  enthrall  ? 
What  idle  progeny  succeed 
To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed, 

Or  urge  the  flying  ball  ? 


While  some,  on  earnest  business  bent. 

Their  murmuring  labours  ply, 
'Gainst  graver  hours,  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty ; 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign, 
And  unknown  regions  dare  descry! 

Still,  as  they  run,  they  look  behind! 

They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind, 
And  snatch  a  fearful  joy! 


Gay  Hope  is  theirs,  by  Fancy  fed; 

Less  pleasing  when  possest ! 
The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed  ! 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast ! 
Theirs,  buxom   Health  of  rosy  hue  ! 
\\  ild  Wit,   Invention  ever  new, 
And  lively  Cheer,  of  Vigour  born  I 

The  thoughtless  day,   the  easy  night, 

The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light 
That  lly  th'  approach   of  morn! 

<^  -  83 


Thomas  Gray.^ 


Alas !    regardless  of  their  doom, 

The  little  victims  play ! 
No  sense  have  they  of  Ills  to  come; 

Nor  Care,  beyond  to-day! 
Yet  see,  how  all  around  them  wait 
The  Ministers  of  human  fate ; 
And  black  Misfortune's  baleful  Train ! 

Ah !   shew  them  where  in  ambush  stand 

To  seize  their  prey,  the  murd'rous  band 
Ah!   tell  them,  they  are  men! 


These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear; 

The  vultures  of  the  mind ! 
Disdainful  Anger,   pallid  Fear, 

And  Shame  that  skulks  behind ! 
Or  pining  Love  shall  waste  their  youth ; 
Or  Jealousy  with  rankling  tooth, 
That  inly  gnaws  the  secret  heart! 

And  Envy  wan,  and  faded  Care, 

Grim-visaged  comfortless  Despair, 
And  Sorrow's  piercing  dart! 


Ambition,  this  shall  tempt  to  rise; 

Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high, 
To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice. 

And  grinning  Infamy! 
84 


Tliojnas  Gray. 


The  stings  of  Falsehood,  those  shall  try ; 
And  hard   Unkindness'  altered  eye, 
That  mocks  the  tear,  it  forced  to  flow ! 

And  keen   Remorse  with  blood  defiled  ; 

And  moody  Madness,  laughing  wild 
Amid  severest  woe  I 


Lo  I    in  the  Vale  of  Years  beneath, 

A  grisly  troop  are  seen ! 
The  painful   Family  of  Death, 

More  hideous  than  their  Oueen ! 
This  racks  the  joints !   this  fires  the  veins ! 
That,  every  labouring  sinew  strains! 
Those,   in  the  deeper  vitals  rage ! 

Lo  !    Poverty!  to  fill  the  band!  see  p.  95. 

That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand; 
And  slow-consuming  Age ! 


To  each,  his  suff  rings !     All  are  men, 

Condemned  alike  to  groan ; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain  ! 

Th'  unfeelinc:  for  his  own  ! 
Yet,  ah  !    why  should  they  know  their  fate  ? 
Since  Sorrow  never  comes  too  late. 
And   Happiness  too  swiftly  flies! 

Thought  would  destroy  their   Paradise! 

No  more !     Where   Ignorance  is  bliss. 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise ! 

85 


Thomas  Gray. 


A  LONG  STORY. 

In  Britain's  Isle,  no  matter  where, 
An  ancient  pile  of  building  stands. 

The  HuNTiNGDONS  and  Hattons  there 
Employed  the  power  of  fairy  hands 

To  raise  the  ceiling's  fretted  height ; 

Each  panel  in  achievements  clothing, 
Rich  windows  that  exclude  the  light, 

And  passages  that  lead  to  nothing. 

Full  oft,  within  the  spacious  walls. 
When  he  had  fifty  winters  o'er  him. 

My  grave  Lord  Keeper  ^  led  the  Brawls ; 
The  Seal  and  Maces  danced  before  him. 


His  bushy  beard,  and  shoe-strings  green, 
His  high-crowned  hat  and  satin  doublet, 

Moved  the  stout  heart  of  England's  Queen  ; 

Though  Pope  and  Spaniard  could  not  trouble  it! 

•  Hatton,  preferred  by  Queen  Elizabeth  for  his  graceful  person  and  fine 
dancing. 

86 


Thomas  Gray, 


(What !    in  the  very  first  beginning ! 

Shame  of  the  versifying  tribe! 
Your  history  whither  are  you  spinning  ? 

Can  you  do  nothing:  but  describe  ?) 

A  House  there  is  (and  that  's  enough !), 
From  whence,  one  fatal  morning,  issues 

A  brace  of  Warriors,  not  in  buff, 

But  rustlinc:  in  their  silks  and  tissues. 

The  first  came  cap-a-pic  from  France, 
Her  conqu'ring  destiny  fulfilling; 

Whom  meaner  Beauties  eye  askance, 
And  vainly  ape  her  art  of  killing. 

The  other  Amazon,  kind   Heaven 

Had  armed  with  spirit,  wit,  and  satire  : 

But  CoBHAM  had  the  polish  given, 

And  tipped  her  arrows  with  good  nature. 

To  celebrate  her  eyes,  her  Air — 

(Coarse  panegyrics  would  but  tease  her !) 

Melissa  is  her  nom  de  guerre. 

Alas !    who  would  not  wish  to  please  her 

With  bonnet  blue,  and  capucine. 

And  aprons  long,  they  hid   their  armour; 
And  veiled  their  weapons  briglit  and   k(<n. 

In  pity  to  the  country  farmer. 

87 


Thomas  Gray. 


Fame,  in  the  person  of  Mr.   Purt 

(By  this  time,  all  the  parish  know  it!), 

Had  told,  *  That  thereabouts  there  lurked 
A  wicked  Imp,  they  call  a  Poet. 

'Who  prowled  the  country  far  and  near, 
Bewitched  the  children  of  the  peasants. 

Dried  up  the  cows,  and  lamed  the  deer. 

And  sucked  the  eggs,  and  killed  the  pheasants.' 

My  Lady  heard  their  joint  petition ; 

Swore,  by  her  coronet  and  ermine! 
She'd  issue  out  her  High  Commission 

To  rid  the  Manor  of  such  vermin! 

The  Heroines  undertook  the  task, 

Through  lanes  unknown,  o'er  stiles,  they  ventured ; 
Rapped  at  the  door ;    nor  stayed  to  ask, 

But  bounce  into  the  Parlour  entered! 

The  trembling  family  they  daunt! 

They  flirt !   they  sing !    they  laugh !   they  tattle ! 
Rummage  his  Mother,  pinch  his  Aunt ; 

And  upstairs  in  a  whirlwind  rattle ! 

Each  hole  and  cupboard  they  explore ; 

Each  creek  and  cranny  of  his  chamber! 
Run  hurry-skurry  round  the  floor  ; 

And  o'er  the  bed  and  tester  clamber! 
88 


TJwnias  Gray. 


Into  the  drawers  and  china  pry ; 

Papers  and  books,  a  huge  imbrogHo! 
Under  a  teacup  he  might  He; 

Or  creased,  like  dog's-ears,  in  a  folio! 

At  the  first  marching  of  the  troops, 
The  Muses,  hopeless  of  his  pardon, 

Conveyed  him,  underneath  their  hoops, 
To  a  small  closet  in  the  garden. 

So  Rumour  says!  (Who  will,  believe!) 
But  that  they  left  the  door  ajar ; 

Where,  safe  and  laughing  in  his  sleeve 
He  heard  the  distant  din  of  war. 

Short  was  his  joy !     He  little  knew 
The  power  of  Magic  was  no  fable! 

Out  of  the  window,  whisk!  they  flew; 
But  left  a  spell  upon  the  table. 

The  words  too  eager  to  unriddle, 
The   Poet  felt  a  strange  disorder: 

Transparent  birdlime  formed  the  middle, 
And  chains  invisible  the  border. 

So  cunning  was  the  apparatus. 

The  powerful  pothooks  did  so  move  him ; 
That,  will  he!    nill  he!    to  the  Great   House 

He  went,   as  if  the   Devil  drove  him  ! 

89 


Thomas  Gray, 


Yet,  on  his  way  (no  sign  of  grace ; 

For  folks  in  fear  are  apt  to  pray  !), 
To  Phoebus  he  preferred  his  case ; 

And  begged  his  aid,  that  dreadful  day. 

The  Godhead  would  have  backed  his  quarrel ; 

But,  with  a  blush,  on  recollection 
Owned,  that  his  quiver  and  his  laurel 

'Gainst  four  such  eyes  were  no  protection! 

The  Court  was  sat,  the  culprit  there. 

Forth  from  their  gloomy  mansions  creeping, 
The  Lady  Janes  and  Joans  repair; 

And  from  the  Gallery  stand  peeping. 

Such  as,  in  silence  of  the  night, 

Come,  sweep  along  some  winding  entry 

(Styack  ^  has  often  seen  the  sight !), 
Or  at  the  Chapel  door  stand  sentry. 

In  peaked  hoods  and  mantles  tarnished, 
Sour  visages,  enough  to  scare  ye ! 

High  Dames  of  Honour  once,  that  garnished 
The  Drawing  Room  of  fierce  Queen  Mary. 

The  Peeress  comes.     The  audience  stare. 
And  doff  their  hats  with  due  submission. 

She  curtsies,  as  she  takes  her  chair, 
To  all  the  people  of  condition. 

•  The  Housekeeper. 
90 


Thomas  Gray. 


The   Bard,  with  many  an  artful  fib, 

Had.  in  imagination,  fenced  him, 
Disproved  the  arguments  of  Squib  \ 

And  all  that  Groom  ^  could  urge  against  him. 


But  soon  his  rhetoric  forsook  him  ; 

When  he  the  solemn  Hall  had  seen. 
A  sudden  fit  of  ague  shook  him. 

He  stood  as  mute  as  poor  Macleane'. 


Yet  something  he  was  heard  to  mutter, 
'  How,  in  the  Park,  beneath  an  old  tree 

(Without  design  to  hurt  the  butter, 
Or  any  malice  to  the  poultry !), 


'He  once,  or  twice,  had  penned  a  Sonnet; 

Yet  hoped  that  he  might  save  his  bacon ! 
Numbers  would  give  their  oaths  upon  it, 

He  ne'er  was  for  a  Conj'rer  taken.' 


The  ghostly  Prudes,  with  hagged  face, 
Already  had  condemned  the  sinner : 

My   Lady  rose,  and  with  a  grace — 

She  smiled;    and  bid  him  come  to  dinner! 


'  The  Croom  of  the  Chamber*.  ■■  A  tamous  HiRhwayman  hanj^'cd  tbr 

'  The  Sitward.  week  before. 

91 


Thomas  Gray. 


'Jesu-Maria!   Madam  Bridget! 

Why!    what  can  the  Viscountess  mean?' 
Cried  the  Square- Hoods,  in  woeful  fidget, 

'The  Times  are  altered  quite  and  clean. 

'  Decorum  's  turned  to  mere  Civility ! 

Her  Air  and  all  her  manners  shew  it! 
Commend  me,  to  her  affability ! 

Speak  to  a  Commoner!    and  Poet!' 


[Here  500  stanzas  are  losi^ 


And  so,  GOD  save  our  noble  King; 

And  guard  us  from  long-winded  lubbers! 
That  to  eternity  would  sing, 

And  keep  my  Lady  from  her  rubbers! 


92 


Thomas  Grav. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY, 
A  Pindaric  Ode^. 

I. 

Awake,  ^^lolian  Lyre!    awake, 
And  give  to  rapture  all  thy  trembling  strings ! 

^  From  Helicon's  harmonious  springs, 
A  thousand  rills  their  mazy  progress  take 

The  laughing  flowers,  that  round  them  blow, 

Drink  life  and  fragrance  as  they  flow. 
Now  the  rich  stream  of  music  winds  along 

Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong, 
Through  verdant  vales  and  Ceres'  golden  reign ! 

Now  rolling  down  the  steep  amain, 

Headlong,  impetuous,  see  it  pour ! 
The  rocks  and  nodding  groves  re-bellow  to  the  roar 


'  When   the    Author   first   published  lustre  to  all  it  touches,  are  here  described ; 

this  .  ,   .  Ode,  he  was  adviiid,  even  by  its   quiet    majestic    I'rogrcss   enriching 

hisfiiciiHs,  tu  subjoin  some  few  explan-  every  subject   otherwise  dry  and  Imri  en) 

alory    Notes  ;    but    he   had    too    much  with  a  pomp  of  diction  and  luxuriant 

respect   for   the   understandiag    of    his  harmony   of  Numhei s  ;    and  its  more 

Readers  to  lake  that  lib'-rty.  rapid     and    irresisiib/e    cowse,    when 

•*  The   subject    and   simile,  as  u'^ual  swollen  and  hurried  nwiy  by  the  con 

with  I'INDAK,  are  united.      The  various  flict  of  tumultuous  J'assions. 
Sources  of  J'ottry,  which  gives  life  and 

93 


Thomas  Gray, 


^  O,  Sovereign  of  the  willing  soul ! 
Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  Airs ! 

Enchanting  Shell !     The  sullen  cares 
And  frantic  Passions  hear  thy  soft  control  1 

On  Thracia's  hills,  the  Lord  of  War 

Has  curbed  the  fury  of  his  car, 
And  dropped  his  thirsty  lance,  at  thy  command  1 

Perching  on  the  sceptred  hand 
Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feathered  King, 

With  ruffled  plumes,  and  flagging  wing! 

Quenched  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber  lie 
The  terror  of  his  beak,  the  lightnings  of  his  eye ! 


^  Thee,  the  voice,  the  dance,  obey ! 
Tempered  to  thy  warbled  Lay. 

O'er  Idalia's  velvet  green, 

The  rosy-crowned  Loves  are  seen, 
On  Cytherea's  Day, 

With  antic  sports,  and  blue-eyed  Pleasures, 
Frisking  light  in  frolic  measures  : 
Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet! 
To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  beating, 

Glance  their  many  twinkling  feet ! 
Slow  melting  strains  their  Queen's  approach  declare, 
Where'er  she  turns,  the  Graces  homage  pay. 

'  Power  of  Harmony    to   calm  the  ^  Power  of  Harmony  to  produce  all 

turbulent    sallies    of  the    soul.       The  the  graces  of  motioit  in  the  body. 
thoughts  are    borrowed   from  the  first 
Pythian  of  Pindar. 

94 


TJionas  Gray. 


With  arms  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air, 
In  gliding  State  she  wins  her   easy  way  ! 
O'er  her  warm  cheek  and  rising  bosom   move 
The  bloom  of  young  Desire,  and  purple  light  of  Love ! 


11. 


^  3Ians  feeble  race,  what  Ills  await  I 
Labour,  and  Penury,  the  racks  of  Pain, 
Disease,  and  Sorrow's  weeping  Train, 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate  ! 
The  fond  Complaint,  my  Song !    disprove ; 
And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove! 

Say,  Has  he  giv'n  in  vain  the  Heav'nly  Muse? 
Night,  and  all  her  sickly  dews, 
Her  spectres  wan,  and  birds  of  boding  cry, 
He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky ; 
Till  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar 
Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glitt'ring  shafts  of  war. 


^  In  climes  beyond  the  solar  road, 
Where  shaggy  forms,  o'er  ice-built  mountains  roam, 

'    To  compensate   the   real  and   im-  *  Extensive  influence  of  Poetic  Genius 

aginary  Ills  of  life,  the  Muse  was  /^iven  over  the  remotest  atul  most  uncivilized 

lo  Mankind  by  the  same  Providetue  that  nations.     Its   connection   with   Liberty, 

sends  the  Day.  by  its  ( he erful presence,  to  and  the  virtues  that  attend  on  it. 
ditpd  the  gloom  and  terrors  of  the  Sight. 

95 


Thomas  Gray. 


The  Muse  has  broke  the  twilight  gloom 
To  cheer  the  shivering  native's  dull  abode ! 

And  oft,  beneath  the  od'rous  shade 

Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid, 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  Youth  repeat, 

In  loose  Numbers  wildly  sweet, 
Their  feather-cinctured  Chiefs,  and  dusky  Loves  ! 

Her  track,  where'er  the  Goddess  roves, 

Glory  pursues,  and  generous  Shame, 
Th'  unconquerable  mind,  and  Freedom's  holy  flame! 


^  Woods,  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep, 

Isles,  that  crown  th'  ^gean  deep, 
Fields,  that  cool  Ilissus  laves 
Or  where  Maeander's  amber  waves 
In  lingering  lab'rinths  creep ; 

How  do  your  tuneful  echoes  languish! 

Mute,  but  to  the  voice  of  anguish! 

Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 
Inspiration  breathed  around  ; 

Evry  shade  and  hallowed  fountain 
Murmured  deep  a  solemn  sound  ; 
Till  the  sad  Nine,  in  Greece's  evil  hour, 
Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latian  plains. 


1  Progress  of  Poetry  from  Greece  to  Spenser  imitated  the  Italian  Writers ; 

Italy:    and  from    Italy   to    Lngland.  MiLTON    improved   on   them:  but  this 

ChaUCEK   was  not   unacquainted    with  School  expired  soon  afier  the  Restora- 

the  Writmgs  of  Dante,  orof  Petrarch.  tion  ;  and  a  new  one  arose  on  the  French 

Sir  Thomas   Wyatt  had  travelled  in  model,  which  has  subsisted  ever  since. 
Italy;     and    formed    his    taste    there. 


96 


Thomas  Gyav. 


Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power  ; 
And  coward  Vice,  that  revels  in  her  chains ! 
When  Latium  had  her  lofty  spirit  lost  ; 
They  sought,  O,  Albion !    next,  thy  sea-encircled  coast ! 


III. 


Far  from  the  sun  and  summer  gale, 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  Darling  ^  laid. 

What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  strayed. 
To  him  the  mighty  Mother  did  unveil 

Her  awful  face.     The  dauntless  Child 

Stretched  forth  his  little  arms,  and  smiled. 
'  This  pencil  take,'  she  said,  '  whose  colours  clear 

Richly  paint  the  vernal  year ! 
Thine  too,  these  Golden  Keys,  immortal  Boy  ! 

This  can  unlock  the  Gates  of  Joy  ! 

Of  Horror  that,  and  thrilling  Fears  ; 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears ! ' 


Nor  second  He  ^  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  Scraph-wings  of  ecstasy. 

The  secrets  of  th'  Abyss  to  spy! 
He  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  Place  and  Time ! 

'  Shakkspeare.  »  Milton. 

BRIT.    AN7II.    IX.  H  QT 


Thomas  Gray. 


The  living  Throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 

Where  Angels  tremble  while  they  gaze, 
He  saw:   but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 

Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night ! 
Behold !    where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 

Wide  o'er  the  Fields  of  Glory  bear 

Two  coursers  of  ethereal  race, 
With  necks  in  thunder  clothed  and  long- resounding  pace. 


Hark !    his  hands  the  Lyre  explore  ! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy,  hovering  o'er, 
Scatters,  from  her  pictured  urn, 
Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn  ! 

^  But,  ah  !    'tis  heard  no  more ! 
O,  Lyre  divine  !    what  daring  Spirit 
Wakes  thee  now?     Though  he  inherit 
Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion, 
That  the  Theban  Eagle  ^  bear, 
Sailing,  with  supreme  dominion, 
Through  the  azure  deep  of  air ; 
Yet  oft,  before  his  infant  eyes,  would  run 

Such  Forms  as  glitter  in  the  Muse's  ray 
With  orient  hues,  unborrowed  of  the  Sun ; 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  his  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate ! 
Beneath  the  Good  how  far  ; — but  far  above  the  Great  ! 

'   We  have  had,  in  our  language,  no  style,   and    harmony    for   such    a    task 

other   Odes  of  the  sublime   kind   than  That  of  Pope  is  not  worthy  of  so  great 

that  of  Dryden  on  St.    Cecilia's  Day  a  man. 

{see  Vol.    VII,  8\  ;  for  Cowley,  who  ''■  Pindar. 
had  his  merit,  yet  wanted  judgement, 

98  


TJwnias  Grav. 


ELEGY 

U'RITTEy    IN    A    COUNTRY    ClJURCHVARD. 

The  Curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea. 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way  ; 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Xow  fades  the  glimm'ring  landscape  on  the  sight. 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds  ; 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 

And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds. 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower. 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wand'ring  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade. 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring  heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 

The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing   Morn, 
The  swallow  twitt'ring  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cocks  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bet! ! 

H   2  99 


Thoitias  Gray. 


For  them,  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn ; 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ! 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's   return ; 

Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  share ! 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure! 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  Annals  of  the  Poor! 

The  boast  of  Heraldry,  the  pomp  of  Power, 
And  all  that  Beauty,  all  that  Wealth,  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour ! 

The  paths  of  Glory  lead  but  to  the  Grave! 

Nor  you,  ye  Proud !    impute  to  These  the  fault. 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 

Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault, 
The  pealing  Anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust, 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 

Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust ; 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

lOO 


Tliouias  Gray. 


Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial   fire ! 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  Empire  might  have  swayed  ! 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  Lyre ! 

But  Knowledge,  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  Time,  did  ne'er  unroll ! 

Chill  penury  repressed  their  noble   rage, 
And  froze  the  eenial  current  of  the  soul ! 

i'ull  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene. 

The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ! 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air ! 

Some  village   Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  Tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood. 

Some  mute  inglorious  Milton,  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood ! 

Th'  applause  of  listening  Senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to   despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  hist'ry  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade!     Nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues;    but  their  crimes  confined! 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughtc-r  to  a  tlirone, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on   mankind  ; 

lOI 


Thomas  Gray. 


The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame ; 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's   flame ! 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ! 

Along  the  cool  sequestered  Vale  of  Life, 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way ! 

Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh. 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh  ! 

Their  names,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse, 
The  place  of  Fame  and  Elegy  supply ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die ! 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  Being  e'er  resigned, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful   day; 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring,  look  behind ! 

On  some  fond  breast,  the  parting  soul  relies ! 

Some  pious  drops,  the  closing  eye  requires  ! 
E'en  from  the  tomb,  the  voice  of  Nature  cries! 

E'en  in  our  ashes,  live  their  wonted  fires ! 
1 02 


Thomas  Gray. 


For  thee  !    \vho.  mindful  of  th'  unhonoured  dead, 
Dost,  in  these  hnes,  their  artless  Tale  relate; 

If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire   thy  fate, 

Haply,  some  hoary-headed  Swain  may  say, 

'  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  the  peep  of  Dawn, 

Brushing,  with  hasty  steps,  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland   lawn. 

'  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech. 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length,  at  Noontide,  would  he  stretch  ; 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

'  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn. 

Mutt'ring  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would   rove ; 
Now  drooping,  woeful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

•  One  morn,   I   missed  him  on  the  customed  hill. 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favourite  tree. 

Another  came  ;    nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood,  was   he  ! 

'  The  next,  with  dirges  due,   in  sad  array, 

Slow  through  the  Churchway  path  we  saw  him  borne. 

Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read  !)   the   Lay, 
Graved  on  the  stone,  beneath  yon  aged  thorn  ! ' 

103 


Thomas  Gray. 


Tee  Epitaph. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 
A  youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown  ! 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth  ;  \ 

And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own  I 


Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send! 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear  I 

He  gained  from  Heaven  {twas  all  he  wished!)  a 
friend! 


No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose ; 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode  ! 
{ There,  they  alike,  in  trembling  hope  repose  /) 

The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  GOD ! 


104 


Mary  Jones. 


MATRIMONY, 

The  rhymes  were  first  put  down  by  a  Gentleman,  for 
the  Author  to  fill  up  as  she  pleased. 


CiiLOE,  coquet  and  debon 
Haughty,  flattered,  vain,  and    . 
No  longer  obstinately  .... 
Let  loose  her  soul  to  dreams  of 

She  took  the  Husband  to  her 
Resiened  her  freedom  and  her 
(^jrew  tame,  and  passive  to  his 
And  bid  her  eyes  forbear  to    . 
But  mighty  happy  still  at 
Nor  room  was  there  for  pain  or 

At  length,  she  found  the  name  of 
Was  but  another  word  for   . 
That  cheek,  which  late  out-blushed  the 
Now,  with  unwonted  fury 
Those  tender  words,  '  My  Dear !    I 
The  moving  tear,  the  melting  . 
Were  now  exchanged  for  something 
And  feigned  emotions  yield  to 

Reproach,  debate,  and  loss  of  . 
Intrigu('s,   diseases,  duns,  and    . 
No  single  fault  lie  strives  to    . 
Madam  has  virtue,   therefore- 

Thus  both  resent,   wliilc  neither 
And  curse,  but  cannot  break,   their 


air, 

fair, 

coy, 

joy\ 

arms, 

charms, 

will ; 

kill\ 

heart ; 

smart. 

Wife 
strife, 
rose, 
glows. 
\lie ! ' 
sigh, 
neiv ; 
true, 
fame, 
shame ; 
hide  \ 
pride, 
spares ; 
snares. 
105 


Mary  yones. 


THE  LASS  OF  THE  HILL. 


On  the  brow  of  a  Hill  a  young  Shepherdess  dwelt, 
Who  no  pangs  of  Ambition  or  Love  had  e'er  felt. 
For  a  few  sober  maxims  still  ran  in  her  head, 
That  'twas  better  to  ear 71,  ere  she  ate,  her  brown  bread ; 
That  to  rise  with  the  lark  was  conducive  to  health ; 
And,  to  folks  in  a  cottage.  Contentment  was   Wealth. 


Now  young  Roger,  who  lived  in  the  Valley  below. 
Who  at  Church  and  at  Market  was  reckoned  a  Beau, 
Had,  many  times,  tried  o'er  her  heart  to  prevail ; 
And  would  rest  on  his  pitchfork,  to  tell  her  his  tale. 
With  his  winning  behaviour,  he  melted  her  heart ; 
But,  quite  artless  herself,  she  suspected  no  art! 


He  had  sighed  and  protested, had  kneeled  and  implored; 
And  could  lie  with  the  grandeur  and  Air  of  a  Lord! 
Then,  her  eyes  he  commended  in  language  well  drest. 
And  enlarged  on  the  torments  that  troubled  his  breast, 
Till  his  sighs  and  his  tears  had  so  wrought  on  her  mind, 
That,  in  downright  compassion,  to  Love  she  inclined. 
106 


Mary  J-ones. 


But  as  soon  as  he'd  melted  the  ice  of  her  breast, 
All  the  flames  of  his  love  in  a  moment  decreast ! 
And,  at  noon,  he  goes  flaunting"  all  over  the  Vale  : 
Where  he  boasts  of  his  conquest  to  Susan  and  Nell. 
Though  he  sees  her  but  seldom,  he  's  always  in  haste  ; 
And,  if  ever  he  mentions  her,  makes  her  his  jest ! 


All  the  day  she  goes  sighing,  and  hanging  her  head; 
And  her  thoughts  are  so  pestered,  she  scarce  earns 

her  bread ! 
The  whole  village  cry  '  Shame  ! ',  when  a  milking  she 

goes, 
That  so  little  affection  is  shewed  to  the  cows ; 
But  she  heeds  not  their  railing!   E'en  let  them  rail  on! 
And  a  hg  for  the  cows !   now  her  Sweetheart  is  gone. 


Now,  beware,  ye  young  Virgins  of  Britain's  gay  Isle  ! 
How  ye  yield  up  your  hearts  to  a  look  or  a  smile! 
For  Cliid  is  artful,  and  Virgins  are  frail; 
And  you'll  find  a  false  Roger  in  every  vale ! 
Who,  to  court  you,  and  tempt  you,  will  try  all  his  skill : 
But  remember  the   Lass  on  the  brow  of  the   Hill! 


107 


Samuel  Boyce. 


Young  Daphne  was  the  prettiest  Maid 

The  eyes  of  Love  could  see ; 
And  but  one  fault  the  Charmer  had, 

'Twas  cruelty  to  me ! 
No  Swain  that  e'er  the  Nymph  adored, 

Was  fonder,  or  was  younger ; 
Yet  when  her  pity  I  implored, 

'Twas  '  Stay  a  little  longer ! ' 


It  chanced  I  met  the  blooming  Fair, 
One  May  morn,  in  the  grove, 

When  Cupid  whispered  in  my  ear, 
'  Now,  now,  's  the  time  for  love ! ' 

I  clasped  the  Maid.      It  waked  her  pride. 
'  What !    did  I  mean  to  wrong  her  ? ' 

'Not  so,  my  gentle  Dear!*    I  cried, 
But  Love  will  stay  no  longer ! ' 


Then,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  I  swore 

How  much  I  loved !    how  well ! 
And  that  my  heart,  which  beat  for  her, 

With  her  should  ever  dwell ! 
Consent  stood  speaking  in  the  eye 

Of  all  my  care's  prolonger ; 
Yet  Daphne  uttered,  with  a  sigh, 

'  Oh  !    stay  a  little  longer ! ' 
io8 


Sam  11  el  Boyce. 


The  conflict  in  her   soul   I   saw 

'Twixt  Virtue  and  Desire, 
*  O,  come  ! '    I  cried,  '  let   Hymen's  law 

Give  sanction  to  Love's  fire ! ' 
Ye  Lovers !   guess  how  great  my  joys  ! 

Could  rapture  well  prove  stronger. 
When  Virtue  spoke,  in   Daphne's  voice, 

'  You,  now,  shall  stay  no  longer  1 ' 


COLIN' S  SUCCESS. 

To  woo  me,  and  win  me,  and  kiss,  and  all  that, 

Young  Colin  tripped  over  the  plain, 
He  saw  me.  he  blushed,  and  he  played  with  his  hat; 

So   I  bid  him  return  back  again ! 
'Ah!     Phillis!'    he    cried,    'from    the  cottage    I've 
strayed. 

In  hopes  you'd  be  kind  to  your  Swain ! 
O,  grant  me  a  kiss ! '     '  You  may  take  it ! '   I  said, 

'  But  pray  never  attempt  it  again ! ' 

Emboldened  by  this,  he  sat  down  at  my  side, 

The  favour  so  small  to  obtain  ; 
1   know  not  how  'twas ;    but  he  softened  my  pride. 

So   I   cried,   '  You   may  kiss  me  again  ! ' 
My  bosom  grew  warm,  and  my  heart  beat  in  haste; 

While  ra[jture  (.-mpowered  the   fond   Swain  : 
And  trust  me,  ye  Fair  ! — for   I   held  him  so   fast, 

That  he  could  not  return   back  again  ! 

109 


Samuel  Boyce. 


Young  Colin  protests,  I'm  his  joy  and  delight ! 
He  's  ever  unhappy,  when  I'm  from  his  sight ! 
He  wants  to  be  with  me,  wherever  I  go. 
The  Deuce,  sure,  is  in  him,  for  plaguing  me  so ! 


His  pleasure,  all  day,  is  to  sit  by  my  side. 
He  pipes  and  he  sings ;   though  I  frown  and  I  chide. 
I  bid  him  depart ;    but  he,  smiling,  says  '  No ! '. 
The  Deuce  must  be  in  him,  for  plaguing  me  so  ! 


He  often  requests  me,  his  pain  to  relieve. 
I  ask  him.  What  favour  he  hopes  to  receive  ? 
His  answer  's  a  sigh  ;    while  in  blushes  I  glow. 
What  mortal  besides  him,  would  plague  a  Maid  so? 


This  breast-knot  he  yesterday  brought  from  the  Wake, 

He  softly  intreated  I'd  wear  for  his  sake ! 

Such  trifles,  'tis  easy  enough  to  bestow ! 

I,  sure,  deserve  more,  for  his  plaguing  me  so! 


He  hands  me,  each  eve,  to  the  cot  from  the  plain  ; 
He  meets  me,  each  morn,  to  conduct  me  again. 
But  what  's  his  intention,   I  wish  I  could  know ! 
For  I'd  rather  be  married,  than  plagued  with  him  sol 
no  


Samuel  Bovce. 


When  Damon  met  Piiillis  first  on  the  gay  Green, 
H^e kissed  her,  and  called  her 'his  heart's  Httle  Queen!' 
•  Such  rudeness ! '    she  said,  '  I  your  title  disdain  ! 
And  pray,  never  offer  to  kiss  me  again ! ' 
He,  who  little  skill  in  the  Sex  had   acquired, 
Believed,  simple  Youth!  she  spoke  what  she  desired 
He  told  her,   How  hard  an  injunction  she  laid  ! 
She  knew  it  was  hard,  that  he  took  what  she  said. 


Her  fancy  now  whispered  more  kindness  to  show, 
One  kiss  had  instructed  her  bosom  to  glow. 
Her  heart  thus  the  Shepherd  ensnared  by  a  whim. 
She  thousiht  he  loved  her.    She  was  sure  she  loved  him! 
He'd  let  his  flocks  rove,  for  her  sake,  all  the  day  ; 
And  say  such  soft  things  as  all  soft  Lovers  say  : 
But,  as  she'd  forbid  him,  her  lips  were  forgot! 
Could  this  be  called  Courtship  ?    I   really  think  not ! 


At  length,  by  good  luck,  he  took  courage  and  cried, 
Will  CiiLuE  consent  to  be  Colin's  sweet  Bride?' 
She  grew  in  a  passion,  but  cooled  by  degrees ; 
Vet  made  him  no  answer  but  '  Yes  !    if  you  please  ! ' 
And  now  she  's  a  Wife,  she  's  no  longer  a  Prude  ; 
The  station  has  soothed  her  to  what  she  thought  rude. 
I'or,  now,  when  a  kiss  she  receives  from   her  Swain. 
I  I'-r  heart  beats  with   raptures  to  kiss  him   again! 

Ill 


Samttel  yohnson,  LL.D. 


PROLOGUE 

SPOKEN  BY  Mr.   Garrick, 

AT  THE  OPENING  OF  THE    ThEATRE  RoVAL,  DrURY  La^IE, 

1747. 

When  Learning's  triumph  o'er  her  barb'rous  foes 
First  reared  the  Stage,  immortal  Shakespeare  rose! 
Each  change  of  many-coloured  life  he  drew ; 
Exhausted  Worlds,  and  then  imagined  new! 
Existence  saw  him  spurn  her  bounded  reign ; 
And  panting  Time  toiled  after  him  in  vain ! 
His  powerful  strokes  presiding  Truth  imprest; 
And  unresisted  Passion  stormed  the  breast! 

Then  Jonson  came,  instructed  from  the  School, 
To  please  in  method,  and  invent  by  rule. 
His  studious  patience  and  laborious  art 
By  regular  approach  assayed  the  heart ! 
Cold  Approbation  gave  the  ling'ring  Bays ; 
For  those  who  durst  not  censure,  scarce  could  praise ! 
A  mortal  born,  he  met  the  general  doom ; 
But  left,  like  Egypt's  Kings,  a  lasting  tomb. 


112 


Samuel  yoJinson,  LL.D. 


The  Wits  of  Charles  found  easier  ways  to  fame; 
Nor  wished  for  Jonson's  art,  or  Shakespeare's  flame! 
Themselves,  they  studied !    As  they  felt,  they  writ ! 
Intrigue  was   Plot!    Obscenity  was  Wit! 
Vice  always  found  a  sympathetic  friend  ; 
They  pleased  their  Age,  and  did  not  aim  to  mend ' 
Yet  Bards  like  these  aspired  to  lasting  praise ; 
And  proudly  hoped  to  pimp  in  future  days  ! 
Their  Cause  was  gen'ral,  their  supports  were  strong  ; 
Their  slaves  were  wilHng,  and  their  reign  was  long: 
Till  Shame  regained  the  post  that  Sense  betrayed, 
And  Virtue  called  Oblivion  to  her  aid. 


Then,  crushed  by  rules,  and  weakened  as  refined. 
For  years  the  power  of  Tragedy  declined. 
From  Bard  to  Bard  the  frigid  caution  crept, 
Till  Declamation  roared,  while   Passion  slept: 
Yet  still  did  Virtue  deign  the  Stage  to  tread ; 
Philosophy  remained,  though   Nature  fled! 
But  forced,  at  lengdi,  her  ancient  reign  to  quit ; 
She  saw  great  Faustus  lay  the  ghost  of  Wit. 
Exulting  Folly  hailed  the  glorious  day; 
And  Pantomine  and  Song  confirmed  her  sway. 


But  who  the  coming  changes  can  presage, 
And  mark  the  future  periods  of  the  Stage  ? 
Perhaps,  if  skill  could  distant  Times  explore. 
New  Behns,  new   D'Ukfevs,  yet  remain  in  store! 

RRIT.  ANTII.  IX.  X  113 


Samuel  yohnson,  LL.D. 

Perhaps,  where  Lear  has  raved,  and  Hamlet  died, 
On  flying  cars,  new  Sorcerers  may  ride ! 
Perhaps  (for  who  can  guess  th'  effects  of  chance !) 
Here  Hunt  may  box;  or  Mahomet  may  dance! 


Hard  is  his  lot,  that,  here  by  Fortune  placed, 
Must  watch  the  wild  vicissitudes  of  Taste! 
With  every  meteor  of  Caprice  must  play, 
And  chase  the  new-blown  Bubbles  of  the  Day! 

Ah !  let  not  Censure  term  our  fate  our  choice  I 
The  Stage  but  echoes  back  the  public  voice ! 
The  Drama's  laws,  the  Drama's  Patrons  give ! 
For  we,  that  live  to  please,  must  please  to  live! 


Then,  prompt  no  more  the  follies  you  decry; 
As  tyrants  doom  their  tools  of  guilt  to  die ! 
'Tis  yours,  this  night,  to  bid  the  reign  commence 
Of  rescued  Nature,  and  reviving  Sense ! 
To  chase  the  charms  of  Sound,  the  pomp  of  Show, 
For  useful  Mirth  and  salutary  Woe ! 
Bid  scenic  Virtue  form  the  rising  Age ; 
And  Truth  diffuse  her  radiance  from  the  Stage ! 


114 


Samuel  yolmson,  LL.D. 


THE    WINTER'S    WALK. 

Behold,  my  Fair !    where'er  we  rove, 
What  dreary  prospects  round  us  rise  ! 

The  naked  hill !    the  leafless  grove ! 

The  hoary  ground !    the  frowning  skies ! 

Not  only  through  the  wasted  plain, 
Stern  Winter !    is  thy  force  confessed  ! 

Still  wider  spreads  thy  horrid  reign ! 
I  feel  thy  power  usurp  my  breast! 

Enliven  Hope  and  fond  Desire, 

Resign  the  heart  to  Spleen  and  Care ! 

Scarce  frighted  Love  maintains  her  fire, 
And  Rapture  saddens  to  Despair ! 

In  groundless   Hope  and  causeless  Fear, 
Unhappy  man!    behold  thy  doom! 

Still  changing  with   the  changeful  year. 
The  slave  of  sunshine  and  of  gloom ! 

Tired  with  vain  joys,  and  false  alarms ; 

With  mental  and  corporeal  strife ; 
Snatch  me,  my  Stixla  !    to  thy  arms, 

And  shield  me  from  the   Ills  of  Life! 

I  2  115 


Samuel  yohnson,  LL.D. 


A   NEW  PROLOGUE 

SPOKEN  BY  Mr.  Garrick, 
Thursday,  April  5,  1750, 
AT  THE  Representation  of  *  Com  us,* 

FOR    THE    BENEFIT    OF   Mrs.    ElIZABETH   EoSTER, 

MILTON'S 

GRAND-DAUGHTER,    AND    ONLY  SURVIVING    DESCENDANT. 

Ye  patriot  crowds,  who  burn  for  England's  fame ! 
Ye  Nymphs,  whose  bosoms  beat  at  Milton's  name ; 
Whose  gen'rous  zeal,  unbonght  by  flatt'ring  rhymes, 
Shames  the  mean  Pensions  of  Augustan  Times! 
Immortal  Patrons  of  succeeding  days, 
Attend  this  Prelude  of  perpetual  praise ! 
Let  Wit,  condemned  the  feeble  war  to  wage 
With  close  Malevolence  or  public  Rage, 
Let  Study,  worn  with  Virtue's  fruitless  lore, 
Behold  this  Theatre,  and  grieve  no  more ! 

This  night,  distinguished  by  your  smile,  shall  tell, 
That  never  Briton  can,  in  vain,  excel ! 
n6 


Samuel  yo  Jin  son,  LL.D. 


The  slighted  Arts,  futurity  shall  trust; 
And  rising  Ages  hasten  to  be  just! 

At  length,  our  mighty  Bard's  victorious  Lays 
Fill  the  loud  voice  of  universal  praise ; 
And  baffled  Spite,  with  hopeless  anguish  dumb, 
Yields  to  Renown  the  centuries  to  come ! 
With  ardent  haste,  each  candidate  of  fame 
Ambitious  catches  at  his  tow'ring  name! 

He  sees,  and  pitying  sees,  vain  Wealth  bestow 
Those  pageant  honours,  which  he  scorned  below. 
While  crowds  aloft  the  Laureate  Bust  behold, 
Or  trace  his  form  in  circulating  gold ; 
Unknown,  unheeded,  long  his  Offspring  lay. 
And  Want  hung  threat'ning  o'er  her  slow  decay. 
What  though  she  shine  with  no  Miltonian  fire, 
No  fav'ring  Muse  her  morning  dreams  inspire; 
Yet  softer  claims,  the  melting  heart  engage, 
Her  youth  laborious,  and  her  blameless  age! 
Hers  the  mild  merits  of  domestic  life; 
The  patient  suff'rer,  and  the  faithful  Wife ! 

Thus  eraced  with  humble  Virtue's  native  charms. 
Her  Grandsire  leaves  her  in  Britannia's  arms! 
Secure  with  peace,  with  competence,   to  dwell ; 
While  tutelary  nations  guard  her  cell  ! 

Yours  is  the  charge,  ye  Fair !  ye  Wise  I  ye  Bravo  I 
Tis  yours  to  crown  desert — beyond  the  grave! 


117 


Samuel  yohnson,  LL.D. 


TO  STELLA, 

Not  the  soft  sighs  of  vernal  gales, 
The  fragrance  of  the  flowery  vales, 
The  murmurs  of  the  crystal  rill, 
The  vocal  grove,  the  verdant  hill ; 
Nor  all  their  charms,  though  all  unite. 
Can  touch  my  bosom  with  delight! 


Not  all  the  gems  on  India's  shore, 
Not  all   Peru's  unbounded  store  ; 
Not  all  the  power,  nor  all  the  fame, 
That  Heroes,   Kings,  or  Poets  claim; 
Nor  knowledge  which  the  Learn'd  approve ; 
To  form  one  wish  my  soul  can  move ! 


Yet  Nature's  charms  allure  my  eyes; 

And  Knowledge,  Wealth,  and  Fame   I  prize ! 

Fame,  Wealth,  and  Knowledge  I  obtain; 

Nor  seek  I   Nature's  charms  in  vain ! 

In  lovely  Stella  all  combine ; 

And,  lovely  Stella!    thou  art  mine! 


ii8 


Anovymoits. 


THE   GOBLET  OF  WINE. 

My  temples,  with  clusters  of  grapes  I'll  entwine  ; 
And  barter  all  Joys  for  a  Goblet  of  Wine  ! 
In  search  of  a  Venus  no  longer  I'll  run  ; 
But  stop,  and  forget  her,  at  Bacchus's  Tun ! 

Yet  why  this  resolve  to  relinquish  the  Fair  ? 
'Tis  a  folly  with  spirits  like  mine  to  despair! 
And  what  mighty  charms  can  be  found  in  a  Glass, 
If  not  filled  to  the  Health  of  a  favourite  Lass? 

'Tis  Woman,  whose  charms  every  rapture  impart ; 
And  lend  a  new  spring  to  the  pulse  of  the  heart ! 
The  Miser  himself,  so  supreme  is  her  sway ! 
Grows  a  convert  to  Love,  and  resigns  her  his  key. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  Sorrow  lifts  up  her  head  ; 
And   Poverty  listens,  well  pleased,  from  her  shed: 
While  Age,  in  an  ecstasy,  goes  hobbling  along, 
I>eats  time,  with  his  crutch,  to  the  tune  of  her  Song. 

Then  bring  me  a  Goblet  from  Bacchus's  hoard ; 
The  largest  and  deepest  that  stands  on  his  board  ! 
I'll   fill   up  a   Brimmer,  and  drink  to  the   Fair! 
'Tis  the  thirst  of  a  Lover  ;  and  pledge  me  who  dare! 

119 


Anonymous. 


THE   GIRL   rVE  LEFT  BEHIND  ME! 

I'm  lonesome,  since  I  crossed  the  hill, 

And  o'er  the  moor  and  valley ; 
Such  heavy  thoughts  my  heart  do  fill, 

Since  parting  with  my  Sally  ! 
I  seek  no  more  the  fine,  or  gay; 

For  each  does  but  remind  me. 
How  swift  the  hours  did  pass  away 

With  the  Girl  I've  left  behind  me! 

O,  ne'er  shall  I  forget  the  night — 

The  stars  were  bright  above  me, 
And  gladly  lent  their  silv'ry  light — 

When  first  she  vowed  to  love  me. 
But  now  I'm  bound  to  Brighton  Camp! 

Kind  Heaven!    then,  pray  guide  me; 
And  send  me  safely  back  again 

To  the  Girl  I've  left  behind  me ! 

Had  I   the  art  to  sing  her  praise 

With  all  the  skill  of  Homer; 
One  only  theme  should  fill  my  Lays! 

The  charms  of  my  true  Lover! 
So,  let  the  night  be  e'er  so  dark 

Or  e'er  so  wet  and  windy, 
Kind  Heaven!    send  me  back  again 

To  the  Girl  I've  left  behind  me ! 
1 20 


A}wii\mous. 


Her  golden  hair,   in  ringlets  fair  ; 

Her  e\es,  like  diamonds  shining! 
Her  slender  waist,  with  carriage  chaste, 

May  leave  the  swan  repining! 
Ye  Gods  above  !    O,  hear  my  prayer ! 

To  my  beauteous  Fair  to  bind  me  ; 
And  send  me  safely  back  again 

To  the  Girl  I've  left  behind  me ! 

The  bee  shall  honey  taste  no  more, 

The  dove  become  a  ranger, 
The  falling  waves  shall  cease  to  roar, 

Ere   I   shall  seek  to  chanee  her ! 
The  vow^s  we  reo^istered  above 

Shall  ever  cheer,  and  bind  me 
In  constancy  to  her  I   love ! 

The  Girl  I've  left  behind  me! 


My  mind  her  form  shall  still  retain 

In  sleeping,  or  in  waking. 
Until   I   see  my  Love  again ; 

For  whom  my  heart  is  breaking  ! 
If  ever  I   return  that  way, 

And  she  should  not  decline  me ; 
I   evermore  will  live  and  stay 

With   the   Girl   I've  left  behind  me! 


I2T 


Nathaniel  Cotton,  M.D. 


THE  FIRESIDE. 

Dear  Chloe  !    while  the  busy  crowd, 
The  vain,  the  wealthy,  and  the  proud, 

In  Folly's  maze  advance, 
Though  singularity  and   pride 
Be  called  our  choice,  we'll  step  aside ; 

Nor  join  the  giddy  dance  I 


From  the  gay  World  we'll  oft  retire 
To  our  own  family  and  fire ; 

Where  love  our  hours  employs. 
No  noisy  neighbour  enters  here, 
No  intermeddling  stranger  near, 

To  spoil  our  heartfelt  joys! 


If  solid  happiness  we  prize, 
Within  our  breast  this  jewel  lies ; 

And  they  are  fools  who  roam ! 
The  World  has  nothing  to  bestow ! 
From    our  own  selves,  our  joys  must  flow; 

And  that  dear  hut,  our  home ! 

122 


Nathaniel  Cotton,  M.D. 


Of  rest  was  Noah's  dove  bereft, 
When,  with  impatient  wing,  she  left 

That  safe  retreat,  the  Ark. 
Givinor  her  vain  excursion  o'er. 
The  disappointed  bird  once  more 

Explored  the  sacred  bark. 


Though  fools  spurn  Hymen's  gentle  powers : 
We.  who  improve  his  golden  hours, 

By  sweet  experience  know, 
That  Marriage,  rightly  understood, 
Gives  to  the  tender  and  the  good 

A   Paradise  below! 


Our  babes  shall  richest  comforts  bring! 
If  tutored  right,  they'll  prove  a  spring 

Whence  pleasures  ever  rise  I 
We'll  form  their  minds,  with  studious  care, 
To  all  that  's  manly,  good,  and  fair : 

And  train  them  for  the  skies! 


While  they,  our  wisest  hours  engage, 
They'll  joy  our  youth,  support  our  age, 

And  crown  our  hoary  hairs  ! 
They'll  grow  in  virtue  every  day  ; 
And  thus  our  fondest  loves  repay. 

And  recompense  our  cares ! 

J  23 


Nathaniel  Cotton,  M.D. 


No  borrowed  joys!     They're  all  our  own 
While  to  the  World  we  live  unknown ; 

Or  by  the  World  forgot. 
Monarchs !  we  envy  not  your  State ! 
We  look  with  pity  on  the  Great; 

And  bless  our  humble  lot! 


Our  portion  is  not  large,  indeed ; 
But  then,  how  little  do  we  need! 

For  Nature's  calls  are  few ! 
In  this,  the  Art  of  Living  lies, 
To  want  no  more  than  may  suffice ; 

And  make  that  little  do ! 


We'll  therefore  relish  with  content, 
Whate'er  kind  Providence  hath  sent ; 

Nor  aim  beyond  our  power! 
For  if  our  stock  be  very  small, 
'Tis  prudence  to  enjoy  it  all. 

Nor  lose  the  present  hour! 


To  be  resigned,  when  ills  betide  ; 
Patient,  when  favours  are  denied ; 

And  pleased  with  favours  given  : 
Dear  Chloe!   this  is  Wisdom's  part! 
This  is  that  incense  of  the  heart ; 

Whose  fragrance  smells  to   Heaven 
124 


NafJiauicl  Cotton,  M.D. 


We'll  ask  no  long-protracted  treat 
(Since  winter-life  is  seldom  sweet !) : 

But,  when  our  feast  is  o'er, 
Grateful  from  table  we'll  arise ; 
Nor  grudge  our  sons,  with  envious  eyes, 

The  relics  of  our  store! 


Thus,  hand  in  hand,  through  life  we'll  go ! 
Its  chequered  paths  of  Joy  and  Woe, 

With  cautious  steps,  we'll  tread ! 
Quit  its  vain  scenes,  without  a  tear, 
Without  a  trouble,  or  a  fear; 

And  mingle  with  the  dead! 


While  Conscience,  like  a  faithful  friend. 
Shall  through  the  gloomy  Vale  attend, 

And  cheer  our  dying  breath ! 
Shall,  when  all  other  comforts  cease, 
Like  a  kind  Angel,  whisper  peace ; 

And  smooth  the  bed  of  death! 


125 


Charles  IVyndham,  Earl  of  Egremont. 


THE  FAIR    THIEF, 

Before  the  urchin  well  could  go, 
She  stole  the  whiteness  of  the  snow 
And  more  that  whiteness  to  adorn, 
She  stole  the  blushes  of  the  Morn! 
Stole  all  the  sweetness  ether  sheds 
On  primrose  buds  and  violet  beds! 


Still  to  reveal  her  artful  wiles. 
She  stole  the  Graces'  silken  smiles! 
She  stole  Aurora's  balmy  breath  ; 
And  pilfered  orient  pearl  for  teeth ! 
The  cherry,  dipped  in  morning  dew, 
Gave  moisture  to  her  lips,  and  hue! 


These  were  her  Infant  spoils  a  store ; 
And  she,  in  time,  still  pilfered  more ! 
At  twelve,  she  stole  from  Cyprus'  Queen 
Her  Air  and  love-commanding  mien! 
Stole  Juno's  dignity!    and  stole 
From  Pallas  sense  to  charm  the  soul! 
126 


diaries  IVyiidham,  Earl  of  Egrevwnf. 

Apollo's  wit  was  next  her  prey ! 
Her  next,  the  beam  that  lights  the  day! 
She  sang  ; — amazed,  the  Sirens  heard  ; 
And  to  assert  their  voice  appeared ! 
She  played  ; — the  Muses,  from  their   Hill, 
Wondered  who  thus  had  stole  their  skill ! 


Great  Jove  approved  her  crimes  and  art; 
And,  t'other  day,  she  stole  my  heart! 
If  Lovers,  Cupid!   are  thy  care; 
Exert  vour  veno'eance  on  this  Fair ! 
To  trial  bring  her  stolen  charms ; 
And  let  her  prison  be  my  arms! 


127 


Anthony  Whistler. 


*  While,  Strephon  I   thus  you  tease  one 
To  say,  What  won  my  heart  ? 

It  cannot,  sure,  be  treason, 
If  I  the  truth  impart! 


"Twas  not  your  smile,  though  charming 
'Twas  not  your  eyes,  though  bright ! 

'Twas  not  your  bloom,  though  warming ! 
Nor  beauty's  dazzling  light! 


*  'Twas  not  your  dress,  though  shining ; 

Nor  shape,  that  made  me  sigh  ! 
'Twas  not  your  tongue,  combining ; 

For  that,  I  knew — might  lie! 


*  No !     'Twas  your  generous  nature, 
Bold,  soft,  sincere,  and  gay! 

It  shone  in  every  feature. 
And  stole  my  heart  away!* 


128 


/.  5.  H. 


How  easy  was  Colin,  how  blithe  and  how  gay ! 

Ere  he  met  the  fair  Chloris,  how  sprightly  his  Lay ! 

So  graceful  her  form,  so  accomplished  her  mind, 

'Sure,  pity,'  he  thought,  'with  such  charms  must  be  joined!' 

Whenever  she  danced,  or  whenever  she  sung ; 
How  just  was  her  motion!    how  sweet  was  her  tongue! 
And  when  the  Youth  told  her  his  passionate  flame, 
She  allowed  him  to  fancy  her  heart  felt  the  same. 

With  ardour  he  pressed  her  to  think  him  sincere ; 
But.  alas  I    she  redoubled  each  hope  and  each  fear  I 
She  would  not  deny  ;    nor  she  would  not  approve  : 
And  she  neither  refused  him  ;    nor  gave  him  her  love  ! 

Now  cheered  by  complaisance,  now  froze  by  disdain  ; 
He  languished  for  freedom,  but  languished  in  vain  ! 
Till  Thvrsis,  who  pitied  so  helpless  a  slave, 
Eased  his  heart  of  its  pain,  by  the  counsel  he  gave. 

'  Forsake  her,'  said  he,  *  and  reject  her  a  while ! 
If  she  love  you,  she  soon  will  return  wiih  a  smile  ! 
You  can  judge  of  her  Passion  by  absence  alone  ; 
And  by  absence  will  conquer  her  heart— or  your  own  ! ' 

This  advice  he  pursued  :    but  the  remedy  proved 
Too  fatal,  alas  !    to  the  Fair  One  he  loved  ! 
Which  cured  his  own  Passion  :    but  left  her,  in  vain. 
To  sigh  for  a  heart  she  could  never  regain  I 


BKIT.  AMit.  UL.  K  129 


Edward  Moore. 


'You  tell  me,  I'm  handsome,  I  know  not  how  true! 
And  easy,  and  chatty,  and  good-humoured  too ; 
That  my  lips  are  as  red  as  the  rosebud  in  June, 
And  my  voice,  like  the  nightingale's,  sweetly  in  tune : 
All  this  has  been  told  me,  by  twenty  before  ; 
But  he  that  would  win  me,  must  flatter  me  more! 


'  If  Beauty,  from  Virtue  receive  no  supply ; 
Or  Prattle,  from  Prudence ;    how  wanting  am  I  ! 
My  ease  and  good  humour  short  raptures  will  bring] 
And  my   voice,   like  the  nightingale's,  knows  but 

Spring ! 
For  charms  such  as  these,  then,  your  praises  give  o'er ! 
To  love  me  for  life,  you  must  love  me  for  more ! 


'  Then,  talk  to  me  not  of  a  shape,  or  an  Air ; 
For  Cloe,  the  wanton,  can  rival  me  there ! 
'Tis  Virtue  alone,  that  makes  Beauty  look  gay; 
And  brightens  Good  Humour,  as  sunshine  the  day! 
For  that,  if  you  love  me,  your  flame  shall  be  true ; 
And  I,  in  my  turn,  may  be  taught  to  love  too! 


130 


Edward  Moore. 


Howblessed  has  my  time  been!  what  dayshave  I  known! 
Since  wedlock's  soft  bondage  made  Jesse  my  own. 
So  joyful  my  heart  is ;    so  easy,  my  chain  ; 
That  freedom  is  tasteless,  and  roving  a  pain  ! 

Through   walks   grown  with    woodbines,  as  often  we 

stray, 
Around  us  our  boys  and  girls  frolic  and  play. 
How  pleasing  their  sport  is,  the  wanton  ones  see ; 
And  borrow  their  looks  from  my  Jesse  and  me. 


To  try  her  sweet  temper,  sometimes  am  I  seen 
In  Revels  all  day  with  the  Nymphs  of  the  Green; 
Though  painful  my  absence,  my  doubts  she  beguiles, 
And  meets  me,  at  night,  with  compliance  and  smiles. 

What  though  on  her  cheek  the  rose  loses  its  hue; 
Her  ease  and  good  humour  bloom  all  the  year  through! 
TiMK  still,  as  he  flies,  brings  increase  to  her  truth  ; 
And  gives  to  her  mind,  what  he  steals  from  her  youth! 

Ye  Shepherds  so  gay,  who  make  love  to  ensnare  ; 
And  cheat,  with  false  vows,  the  too  credulous  Fair! 
In  search  of  true  pleasure,  how  vainly  you  roam! 
To  hold  it  for  life,  you  must  find  it  at  home ! 

K  3  131 


Tobias  George  Smollett. 


When  Sappho  tuned  the  raptured  strain ; 
The  list'ning  wretch  forgot  his  pain ! 
With  art  divine,  the  lyre  she  strung; 
Like  thee,  she  played !   like  thee,  she  sung ! 

For  while  she  struck  the  quivering  wire. 
The  eager  breast  was  all  on  fire! 
And  when  she  joined  the  vocal  Lay, 
The  captive  soul  was  charmed  away! 

But  had  she  added  still  to  these, 
Thy  softer,  chaster,  power  to  please, 
Thy  beauteous  Air  of  sprightly  youth. 
Thy  native  smiles  of  artless  truth ; 

She  ne'er  had  pined  beneath  disdain! 
She  ne'er  had  played  and  sung  in  vain ! 
Despair  had  ne'er  her  soul  possest, 
To  dash  on  rocks  the  tender  breast! 


Thy  fatal  shafts  unerring  move! 

I  bow  before  thine  altar,  Love! 

I  feel  thy  soft  resistless  flame 

Glide  swift  through  all  my  vital  frame ! 

132 


Tobias  George  Smollett. 


For  while   I  gaze,  my  bosom  glows! 
My  blood,  in  tides  tempestuous  flows ! 
Hope,   Fear,  and  Joy  alternate  roll ; 
And  floods  of  transports  whelm  my  soul ! 

My  falt'ring  tongue  attempts,  in  vain, 
In  soothing  murmurs  to  complain ! 
My  tongue,  some  secret  magic  ties  ; 
My  murmurs  sink  in  broken  sighs! 

Condemned  to  nurse  eternal  care, 
And  ever  drop  the  silent  tear; 
Unheard,   I  mourn!    unknown,   I  sigh! 
Unfriended,  live!    unpitied,  die! 


Let  the  Nymph  still  avoid,  and  be  deaf  to  the  Swain, 
Who  in  transports  of  Passion  affects  to  complain  : 
For  his  rage,   not  his  love,  in  that  frenzy  is  shown  ; 
And  the  blast  that  blows  loudest  is  soon  overblown ! 

But  the  Shepherd  whom  Cupid  has  pierced  to  the  heart, 
Will  submissive  adore,  and  rejoice  in  the  smart; 
Or,   in   plaintive  soft  murmurs,  his  bosom-felt  woe, 

Like  the  smooth  gliding  current  of  rivers  will  flow 
\ 

Though  silent  his  tongue,  he  will  plead  with  his  eyes; 
And  his  heart  own  your  sway,  in  a  tribute  of  sighs  : 
But  when  he  accosts  you   in   meadow,  or  grove, 
His  tale  is  all  tenderness,   rapture,  and  love! 

133 


Tobias  George  Smollett. 


*  To  fix  her !    'Twere  a  task  as  vain 
To  count  the  April  drops  of  rain! 
To  sow  in  Afric's  barren  soil, 

Or  tempests  hold  within  a  toil ! ' 

*  I  know  it,  friend !     She  's  light  as  air ! 
False  as  the  fowler's  artful  snare ! 
Inconstant  as  the  passing  wind ! 

As  Winter's  dreary  frost  unkind ! 

'She  's  such  a  miser  too  in  love, 
Its  joys  She'll  neither  share,  nor  prove ; 
Though  hundreds  of  Gallants  await 
From  her  victorious  eyes,  their  fate ! 

*  Blushing  at  such  inglorious  reign, 

I  sometimes  strive  to  break  her  chain ! 
My  reason  summon  to  my  aid ; 
Resolved  no  more  to  be  betrayed ! 

'  Ah  !    friend  !    'Tis  but  a  short-lived  trance, 
Dispelled  by  one  enchanting  glance ! 
She  need  but  look ;    and  I  confess 
Those  looks  completely  curse,  or  bless! 

'  So  soft !   so  elegant !    so  fair ! 
Sure,  something  more  than  human  's  there! 
I  must  submit ;    for  strife  is  vain ! 
'Twas  Destiny  that  forged  the  chain ! ' 
134  


Tobias  George  Smollett. 


Behold  !  my  brave  Britons,  the  fair  springing  gale  ! 
Fill  a  Bumper,  and  toss  off  your  Glasses  ! 
Buss  and  part  with  your  frolicsome  Lasses  ! 
Then  aboard,  and  unfurl  the  wide-flowing  sail ! 
Chorus.      While  British  oak  beneath  us  rolls, 

And  English  courage  fires  our  souls  ; 
To  crown  our  toils,  the  Fates  decree 
The  Wealth  and  Empire  of  the  Sea  ! 


Our  canvas  and  cares,  to  the  winds  we  display ! 
Life  and  fortune  we  cheerfully  venture ! 
And  we  laugh,  and  we  quaff,  and  we  banter ; 
Nor  think  of  to-morrow,  while  sure  of  to-day ! 
Chorus.      While   British  oak  beneath  us  rolls,  &c. 


The  streamers  of  France,  at  a  distance  appear! 

We  must  mind  other  music  than  Catches ! 

Man  our  Quarters,  and  handle  our  Matches ! 
Our  cannon  produce,  and  for  battle  prepare  ! 
Chorus.      While  British  oak  beneath  us  rolls,  &c. 


Engendered  in  smoke,  and  delivered  in  flame ; 
British  vengeance  rolls  loud  as  the  thunder ! 
Let  the  vault  of  the  sky  burst  asunder, 
So  victory  follows,  with   riches  and   fame  ! 
Chorus.      Whih-   British  oak  beneath  us  rolls,  &c. 

»35 


Tobias  George  Smollett. 


ODE    TO  BLUE- EYED  ANN. 

When  the  rough  North  forgets  to  howl, 
And  Ocean's  billows  cease  to  roll  ; 
When  Lybian  sands  are  bound  in  frost, 
And  cold  to  Nova  Zembla 's  lost; 
When  heavenly  bodies  cease  to  move ; 
My  blue-eyed  Ann  I'll  cease  to  love ! 

No  more  shall  flowers  the  meads  adorn, 
Nor  sweetness  deck  the  rosy  thorn, 
Nor  swelling  buds  proclaim  the  Spring, 
Nor  parching  heats  the  Dog  Star  bring, 
Nor  laughing  lilies  paint  the  grove, 
When  blue-eyed  Ann  I  cease  to  love! 

No  more  shall  joy  in  Hope  be  found, 
Nor  Pleasures  dance  their  frolic  round. 
Nor  Love's  light  God  inhabit  Earth, 
Nor  Beauty  give  the   Passion  birth, 
Nor  heat  to  Summer  sunshine  cleave. 
When  blue-eyed  Nanny  I  deceive ! 

When  rolling  Seasons  cease  to  change, 
Inconstancy  forgets  to  range. 
When  lavish   May  no  more  shall  bloom. 
Nor  gardens  yield  a  sweet  perfume; 
When   Nature  from  her  sphere  shall  start; 
I'll  tear  my  Nanny  from  my  heart! 
T36  


Anonymous. 


Attend,  all  ye  Nymphs  and  ye  Swains  of  the  Green ! 

For  )ou,   I've  roved  the  plains  round! 
Whole  months  I've  been  prying ;  and  now  I  have  seen 

Where  smiling:  Content  's  to  be  found ! 
Come  quickly  with  me.  and  I'll  show  you  the  way 

To  the  spot,  where  he  chose  his  retreat ! 
You  must  fly  from  these  plains,  to  be  easy  and  gay; 

And  near  him,  must  take  up  your  Seat! 


I  sought  him  'mongst  crowds,  and  in  each  gaudy  place; 

But  those  were  the  Mansions  of  Care ! 
In  the   Palace  of  Greatness  unknown  was  his  face  ; 

Contentment  had  never  been  there! 
I  hied  me  to  roofs  that  invited  to  Joys; 

Hope  tempted  me  thither  to  rove: 
But  rude  was  their  Wit,  and  their  Pleasure  was  noise; 

Though  they  beckoned  to  Peace  and  to  Love. 


And.  at  last,  near  a  brook,  to  a  Cottage  I    strayed. 

With  a  few  simple  sheep  on  the  Green, 
The  rose  and  the  woodbine  their  sweetness  displayed, 

Not   Plenty,  but  Health  blessed  the  scene. 
Good   Nature  appeared,  and  unlatched  me  the  door; 

Nor  knew  what  my  coming  there  meant. 
How  great  my  surprise  !    Here,  my  search  was  all  o'er! 

For  he  told  me,  his  name  was  Content. 

137 


Hugh  Kelly. 


THE  y UDICIO US  LO VER. 

Though  that  face,  matchless  Nancy  !  may  blush  like 
the  morn, 

And  fill  us  with  love  and  surprise ; 
Yet  think  not,  my  Dear !   that  an  insolent  scorn 

Is  an  absolute  mark  of  the  skies ! 

The  Graces,  with  lustre  unequalled  may  shine ; 

But  an  honest  admirer  will  find 
That  the  tints  of  the  cheek  are  not  half  so   divine 

As  the  beauties  which  spring  in  the  mind ! 

A  lip  pouting  ripe,  or  a  ringlet  of  hair, 
With  indiff'rence  I  oft  have  withstood; 

And  spoke  of  a  face  the  most  perfectly  fair. 
As  a  compound  of  mere  flesh  and  blood ! 

To  no  sad  extreme  of  despair  ever  drove. 

My  sentiments  once  did  I  hide ; 
Or  think  the  poor  nonsense  of  Beauty  and  Love 

An  excuse  for  Ill-nature  and   Pride ! 

The  Virgin,  for  whom  I  am  fated  to  sigh, 

Must  be  wholly  divested  of  art! 
Must  have  all  the  Graces  to  beam  in  her  eye ; 

And  the  Virtues  to  dwell  in  her  heart! 
138 


Hugh  Kelly. 


Her  breast  with  that  exquisite  fire  must  be  fraught, 
Which  on  mine  has  so  tenderly  stole, 

That    thought,    all    transported,    may    meet    against 
thought ; 
And  soul  fondly  spring  up  to  soul !  .  .  . 


No  NvMPH  of  the  plain  I   can  find, 

With  my  own  little  wench  to  compare! 

No  Maid  is  so  gentle  and  kind, 
Or  so  sweetly  engaging  and  fair! 

No  praise  has  she  e'er  strove  to  gain 
At  the  strictest  discretion's  expense ! 

Thoueh  sfenerous.  never  was  vain  ; 

And  though  witty,  she  always  has  sense  ! 

Though  her  brightness  she  possibly  took 
From  the  radiant  effulgence  of  noon  ; 

Yet  she'd  blush  to  behold  such  a  look 
As  Endvmion  received  from  the  Moon  ! 

She  's  one  complication  of  grace, 
Without  vanity,  falsehood,  or  art ; 

And  possesses  the  loveliest  face, 

With  the  best  and  the  gentlest  heart! 

How  blessed  am   I,  Shepherds  declare  I 
Who  my  fondness  for  Mira  have  known  : 

Since  a  Maid  so  deserving  and   fair, 
I   can  honestly  say,  is  my  own  ! 

139 


Hugh  Kelly. 


THE  SUMMIT  OF  HUMAN  FELICITY. 

Near  Richmond's  bright  vales,  in  a  charmino;  retreat, 

A  mansion  engagingly  stands  ; 
Not  expensively  raised,  but  commodiously  neat, 

And  possesses  some  neighbouring  lands. 

There  Belmour,  with  matchless  Clarinda  retired, 

From  life's  noisy  glare  has  removed. 
By  the  villas  around  both  esteemed  and  admired; 

And  at  home  both  respected  and  loved. 

With  his  soul's  dearest  partner,  the  morn  does  he  pass 

In  the  sweetest  enjoyment  and  ease : 
And,  at  dinner,  some  well-chosen  friends,  o'er  a  glass. 

Are  allowed  to  do  just  what  they  please  ! 

His  cellars,  with  true  hospitality  stored, 

Give  a  welcome  most  cordially  warm : 
For  Plenty  and  Freedom  preside  at  his  board ; 

And  Contentment  takes  care  of  the  farm. 

The  poor,  at  his  presence,  throw  wretchedness  by; 

Their  blessings  alone  to  employ. 
The  heart  of  the  fatherless  ceases  to  sigh  ; 

And  the  widow's  is  leaping  for  joy ! 

Thus,  reaching  the  summit  of  all  human  bliss, 

With  no  care  is  he  ever  perplexed  ; 
But  happily  glides  through  a  life  such  as  this,  \ 

To  meet  endless  delight  in  the  next. 
140  — — 


Anonvvwiis. 


FAIR  DELIA. 

Sick  of  the  World,  fair  Delia  flew 

To  Contemplation's  rural  Seat. 
'Adieu!'    she  cried,  'vain  World!    Adieu! 

Fools  only  study  to  be  Great!' 
The  book,  the  lamp,  the  hermit's   cell, 

The  moss-grown  roof,  and  matted  floor ; 
All  these  she  had.     'Twas  mighty  well ! 

But  yet  she  wanted  something  more! 

Back  to  the  busy  World  again. 

She  soon  returned,  in  hopes  to  find 
Ease  for  imaginary  pain. 

Quiet  of  heart,  and  peace  of  mind. 
Gay  scenes  of  grandeur,  every  hour, 

By  turns,  her  fickle  fancy  fill. 
The  World  seemed  all  within  her  power; 

But  yet  she  wanted  something  still ! 

Cities  and  groves,  by  turns,  were  tried. 

'Twas  all,  ye  Fair!    an  idle  tale! 
Dllia,  at  length,  became  a   Bride, 

A   Bride  to  Damon  of  the  Vale. 
Behold  !    at  once,  the  gloom  was  cleared ! 

Da.mon  grew  kind,    1   can't  tell  how! 
Each  place  a   Paradise   appeared  ! 

And  Delia  wanted  nothing  now! 

T41 


David  Mallet. 


EDWIN  AND  EMMA, 

Far  in  the  windings  of  a  vale, 

Fast  by  a  sheltering  wood, 
The  safe  retreat  of  health  and  peace, 

A  humble  cottage  stood. 

There,  beauteous  Emma  flourished  fair, 

Beneath  a  mother's  eye ; 
Whose  only  wish  on  earth  was  now 

To  see  her  blessed,  and  die. 

The  softest  blush  that  Nature  spreads, 

Gave  colour  to  her  cheek : 
Such  orient  colour  smiles  through  heaven, 

When  May's  sweet  mornings  break ! 

Nor  let  the  pride  of  Great  Ones  scorn 

This  Charmer  of  the  plains! 
That  sun,  who  bids  their  diamonds  blaze, 

To  paint  our  lily  deigns! 

Long  had  she  filled  each  Youth  with  love, 

Each  Maiden  with  despair: 
And,  though  by  all  a  wonder  owned. 
Yet  knew  not  she  was  fair. 
142 


David  Mallet. 


Till  Edwin  came,  the  pride  of  Swains! 

A  soul  that  knew  no  art ; 
And  from  whose  eye,  serenely  mild, 

Shone  forth  the  feelino;  heart. 


'& 


A  mutual  flame  was  quickly  caught; 

Was  quickly  too  revealed! 
For  neither  bosom  lodged  a  wash 

That  Virtue  keeps  concealed. 

What  happy  hours  of  home-felt  bliss 

Did  love  on  both  bestow ! 
But  bliss  too  mighty  long  to  last ; 

Where  Fortune  proves  a  foe. 

His  Sister,  who,  like  Envy  formed, 

Like  her  in  mischief  joyed, 
To  work  them  harm,  with  wicked  will, 

Each  darker  art  employed. 

The  Father  too,  a  sordid  man, 

Who  love,  nor  pity  knew. 
Was  all  unfeeling  as  the  clod. 

From  whence  his  riches  grew. 

Long  had  he  seen  their  secret  flame, 

And  seen  it  long  unmoved ; 
Then,  with  a  father's  frown,  at  last, 

Had  sternly  disapproved. 

143 


David  Mallet. 


In  Edwin's  gentle  heart,  a  war 

Of  differing  Passions  strove ; 
His  heart,  that  durst  not  disobey, 

Yet  could  not  cease  to  love ! 

Denied  her  sight,  he  oft  behind 

The  spreading  hawthorn  crept, 
To  snatch  a  glance ;    to  mark  the  spot 

Where  Emma  walked  and  wept. 

Oft  too,  on  Stanemore's  wintry  waste, 

Beneath  the  moonlight  shade, 
In  sighs  to  pour  his  softened  soul, 

The  midnight  mourner  strayed. 

His  cheek,  where  health  with  beauty  glowed, 

A  deadly  pale  o'ercast ; 
So  fades  the  fresh  rose  in  its  prime, 

Before  the  northern  blast. 

The  parents  now,  with  late  remorse, 

Hung  o'er  his  dying  bed  ; 
And  wearied  Heaven  with  fruitless  vows, 

And  fruitless  sorrow  shed. 

*  Tis  past ! '   he  cried,  *  but  if  your  souls 

Sweet  mercy  yet  can  move, 

Let  these  dim  eyes  once  more  behold 

What  they  must  ever  love!* 
144 


David  Mallet. 


She  came,   his  cold  hand  softly  touched, 
And  bathed  with  many  a  tear! 

Fast  falling  o'er  the  primrose  pale, 
So  morning  dews  appear ! 

But  O,  his  sister's  jealous  care 

(A  cruel  sister  she!) 
Forbade  what  Emma  came  to  say, 

'  My  Edwin  !    live  for  me  ! ' 

Now  homeward  as  she  hopeless  wept 

The  Churchyard  path  along, 
The  blast  blew  cold,  the  dark  owl  screamed 

Her  Lover's   Funeral  Song! 

Amid  the  falling  gloom  of  night, 

Her  startling  fancy  found 
In  every  bush,  his  hovering  shade! 

His  groan  in  every  sound! 

Alone,  appalled,  thus  had  she  passed 

The  visionary  vale. 
When,  lo!  the  death  bell  smote  her  ear. 

Sad  sounding  in  the  gale. 

Just  then,  she  reached,  with  trembling  step, 

Her  aged  mother's  door. 
'He  's  gone!'   she  cried,  'and  I  shall  see 

That  angel  face  no  more ! 

BRIT.    A.NTJI.     IX.  L  145 


David  Mallet. 


'  I  feel !    I  feel  this  breaking  heart 

Beat  high  against  my  side ! ' 
From  her  white  arm  down  sank  her  head, 

She  shivering  sighed,  and  died. 


THE  RECRUITING   SERJEANTS  SONG. 

Adieu  !   for  a  while,  to  the  town  and  its  trade ! 

Adieu !    to  the  meadow  and  rake ! 
Our  Country,  my  Boys !    calls  aloud  for  our  aid ; 

And  shall  we  that  Country  forsake  ? 


It  never  was  known,  that  true  hearts  like  our  own 
From  hardships,  or  hazards,  would  flinch ! 

Let  our  foes  then  unite !    We  will  shew  them,  in  fight, 
What  Britons  can  do  at  a  pinch ! 


A  slave  may  he  be  I    who  will  not  agree 
To  join  with  his  neighbours,  and  sing, 

'  That  the  brave  and  the  free  (such,  Britons  !  are  we !) 
Live  but  for  their  Country  and  King!' 


146 


David  Mallet. 


THE  BIRKS  OF  [ENDERMA  Y  oi<] 
IN  VERM  AY. 


The  smiling  Morn,  the  breathing  Spring, 
Invite  the  tuneful  birds  to  sing; 
And  while  they  warble  from  each  spray, 
Love  melts  the  universal  Lay ! 
Let  us,  Amanda  !    timely  wise, 
Like  them,  improve  the  hour  that  flies  ; 
And,  in  soft  raptures,  waste  the  day 
Among  the   Birks  of  Endermayl 


For  soon  the  Winter  of  the  year, 
And  Age,  Life's  Winter,  will  appear! 
At  this,  thy  living  bloom  will  fade  ; 
As  that  will  strip  the  verdant   shade ! 
Our  taste  of  pleasure  then  is  o'er  ! 
The  feathered  songsters  love  no  more  ! 
And  when  they  droop,  and  we  decay, 
Adieu,  the   Birks  of  Endermay! 

ua  147 


Rev.  Alexander  Bryce. 


['  The  lav'rocks  now  and  lintvvhites  sing 
The  rocks  around  with  echoes  ring ! 
The  mavis  and  the  blackbird  vie 
In  tuneful  strains  to  glad  the  day! 
The  woods  now  wear  their  summer  suits! 
To  mirth  all  Nature  now  invites ! 
Let  us  be  blythsome  then  and  gay 
Among  the  Birks  of  Invermay! 


*  Behold,  the  hills  and  vales  around, 
With  lowing  herds  and  flocks  abound ! 
The  wanton  kids  and  frisking  lambs 
Gambol  and  dance  about  their  dams ! 
The  busy  bees,  with  humming  noise, 
And  all  the  reptile  kind  rejoice ! 
Let  us,  like  them,  then  sing  and  play 
About  the  Birks  of  Invermay! 


'  Hark !    how  the  waters,  as  they  fall, 
Loudly  my  Love  to  gladness  call! 
The  wanton  waves  sport  in  the  beams ; 
And  fishes  play  throughout  the  streams ! 
The  circling  Sun  does  now  advance ; 
And  all  the   Planets  round  him  dance! 
Let  us  as  jovial  be  as  they 
Among  the  Birks  of  Invermay ! '] 

148  


iniliani   IVIiitcheaci.  RL. 


A  SONG  FOR  RAN E LAG H  GARDENS. 

Ye  Belles !  and  ye  Flirts !  and  ye  pert  Little  Things ! 

Who  trip  in  this  frolicsome   Round, 
Pray  tell  me,   From  whence  this  indecency  springs, 

The  Sexes  at  once  to  confound  ? 
What  means  the  cocked  hat,  and  the  masculine  Air 

With  each  motion  designed  to  perplex  ? 
Bright  eyes  were  intended  to  languish: — not  stare! 

And  softness,  the  test  of  your  Sex.  .  .  . 

The  Venus,  whose  statue  delights  all  Mankind, 

Shrinks  modestly  back  from  the  view  ; 
And  kindly  should  seem,   by  the  Artist  designed, 

To  serve  as  a  model   for  you  ! 
Then  learn,  with  her  beauties,  to  copy  her  Air ; 

Nor  venture  too  much  to  reveal ! 
Our  fancies  will   paint  what  you  cover  with  care  ; 

And  double  each  charm  you  conceal. 

The  blushes  of  Morn,  and  the  mildness  of  May, 

Are  charms  which   no  art  can  procure ! 
O,  be  but  yourselves !    and  our  homage  we'll  pa)  ; 

And  your  empire  is  solid  and  sure  ! 
But  if,   Amazon-like,  you  attack  your  Gallants, 

And  put  us  in  fear  of  tnir  lives  ; 
You   may  do  very  well  for  Sisters  and  Aunts! 

Bui  believe  me,  you'll  never  be  Wives! 

149 


IVillimn  Whitehead,  P.L. 


THE   YOUTH  AND   THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

A  Fable. 

A  Grecian  Youth,  of  talents  rare 
(Whom  Plato's  philosophic  care 
Had  formed  for  Virtue's  nobler  view, 
By  precept  and  example  too), 
Would  often  boast  his  matchless  skill 
To  curb  the  steed,  and  guide  the  wheel : 
And  as  he  passed  the  gazing  throng, 
With  graceful  ease,  and  smacked  the  thong, 
The  idiot  wonder  they  exprest 
Was  praise  and  transport  to  his  breast. 

At  length,  quite  vain,  he  needs  would  show 
His  Master  what  his  art  could  do  ; 
And  bade  his  slaves  the  chariot  lead 
To  Academus'  sacred  shade. 

The  trembling  grove  confessed  its  fright. 
The  Wood  Nymphs  startled  at  the  sight 
The  Muses  drop  the  learned  lyre, 
And  to  their  inmost  shades  retire. 

Howe'er,  the  Youth,  with  forward  Air, 
Bows  to  the  Sage,  and  mounts  the  car. 
The  lash  resounds,  the  coursers  spring. 
The  chariot  marks  the  rolling  ring  ; 

150 


William  Whitehead,  P.L. 


And  gath'ring  crowds,  widi  eager  eyes 
And  shouts,  pursue  him  as  he  flies. 

Triumphant  to  the  goal  returned ; 
With  nobler  thirst  his  bosom  burned ! 
And  now,  along  th'  indented  plain, 
The  selfsame  track  he  marks  again; 
Pursues,  with  care,  the  nice  design. 
Nor  ever  deviates  from  the  line. 

Amazement  seized  the  circling  crowd ; 
The  Youths  with  emulation  glowed. 
E'en  bearded  Sages  hailed  the  boy  ; 
And  all,  but  Plato,  gazed  with  joy. 

For  he,  deep-judging  Sage,  beheld 
With  pain  the  triumphs  of  the  field : 
And  when  the  Charioteer  drew  nigh, 
And,  flushed  with  hope,  had  caught  his  eye, 

'Alas!   unhappy  Youth!'    he  cried, 
'  Expect  no  praise  from  me  ! '    and  sighed. 
'With   indignation,   I   survey 
Such  skill  and  judgement  thrown  away ! 
The  time  profusedly  squandered  there 
On  vulgar  arts  beneath   thy  care, 
If  well  employed,  at  less  expense, 
Had  taught  thee   Honour!    Virtue!    Sense! 
And  raised  thee  from  a  coachman's  fate 
To  govern  men,  and  guide  the  Stale  ! ' 


isi 


IVilliam  IVhitehead^  P.L. 


JE   NE  SAIS  QUOI! 

Yes,  I'm  in  love !    I  feel  it  now ; 

And  CyELiA  has  undone  me ! 
And  yet  I'll  swear,   I  can't  tell  how 

The  pleasing  plague  stole  on  me! 


'Tis  not  her  face  that  love  creates  ; 

For  there  no  Graces  revel ! 
'Tis  not  her  shape,  for  there  the  Fates 

Have  rather  been  uncivil ! 


'Tis  not  her  Air ;    for,  sure,  in  that 
There  's  nothing  more  than  common  : 

And  all  her  sense  is  only  chat, 
Like  any  other  woman ! 


Her  voice,  her  touch,  might  give  th'  alarm  !     | 

*Twas  both  perhaps  ;    or  neither ! 
In  short,  'twas  that  provoking  charm 


Of  C^LiA  all  together! 


152 


Horace  IValpole,  Earl  of  Orford. 


THE  THREE   VERNON S. 

Henrietta's  serious  charms 
Awe  the  breast  her  beauty  warms! 
See,  she  bhishes  !     Love  presumes  ! 
See,  she  frowns  !     He  drops  his  plumes ! 
Dancing — h'ghter  o'er  the  ocean 
Was  not  Cvtherea's  motion  ! 
Speaking — Art  repines  to  see 
The  triumph  of  SimpHcity! 

Lips,  that  smile  a  thousand  meanings, 
Humid  with   Hyblaean  gleanings! 
Eyes,  that  glitter  into  Wit ! 
Wanton   Mirth,  with   Fancy  smit! 
Arch  naiveid,  that  wanders 
In  each  dimpling  cheek's  meanders, 
Shedding  roses,  shifting  graces. 
Through  a  face  that  's  twenty  faces ! 
Sweet  assemblage  I     All  combine 
In  pretty,  playful*  Caroline. 

Sober  as  the   Matron's  air  I 
Modest  as  the  cloistered  Fair! 
Patient  till  new  Springs  disclose 
The  bud  of  promised  Beauty's  rose ! 
Waving   Praise's  perfumed  breath 
Ensures  it  young  Elizabeth. 

Lovely   Three !    whose  future  reign 
Shall  sing  some  younger,  sweeter  Swain  !  . 

153 


Horace  Walpole,  Earl  of  Orford. 


ANNA  GRENVTLLE,  COUNTESS  TEMPLE 

APPOINTED  Poet  Laureate  to 

THE  King  of  the  F'airies. 

Written,  at  the  desire  of  Lady  Suffolk,  January  3,  1763. 

By  these  presents,  be  it  known 
To  all  who  bend  before  our  throne. 
Fays  and  Fairies,  Elves  and  Sprites, 
Beauteous  Dames  and  gallant  Knights, 
That   We,  Oberon  the  Grand, 
Emperor  of  Fairy  Land, 
King  of  Moonshine,  Prince  of  Dreams, 
Lord  of  Aganippe's  streams. 
Baron  of  the  dimpled  isles 
That  lie  in  pretty  maiden's  smiles^ 
Arch-Tr easier er  of  all  the  graces 
Dispersed  throtcgh  fifty  lovely  faces. 
Sovereign  of  the  Flipper  s   Order 
With  all  the  rites  thereon  that  border ^ 
Defender  of  the  Sylphic  Faith, 
Declare — and  thus  your  Monarch  saith. 


154 


Horace  IValpoIc,  Earl  of  Orford. 

Whereas  there  is  a  noble   Dame 
Whom  mortals,  Countess  Temple  name, 
To  whom  Ourself  did  erst  impart 
The  choicest  secrets  of  our  art, 
Tauoht  her  to  tune  th'  harmonious  line 

o 

To  our  own  melody  divine, 
Taught  her  the  graceful  neirlio^ence 
Which,  scorning  Art  and  veiling  Sense, 
Achieves  that  conquest  o'er  the  heart 
Sense  seldom  gains;    and  never  Art! 

This  Lady,  'tis  Our  Royal  Will 
Our  Laureate's  vacant  seat  should  fill ! 
A  chaplct  of  immortal  bays 
Shall  crown  her  brows,  and  guard  her  Lays 
Of  Nectar-Sack  an  acorn  cup 
Be,  at  her  board,  each  year,  filled  up ! 
And  as  each  Quarter  Feast  comes  round, 
A  Silver  Penny  shall  be  found 
Within  the  compass  of  her  shoe  1 
And  so  We  bid  you  all,  Adieu! 


Given  at  our  Palace  of  Cowslip  Castle,  the 
shortest  night  of  the  year. 

OliEKON. 


155 


Horace  JValpole,  Earl  of  Orford. 


THE  PARISH  REGISTER  OF  TWICKENHAM. 

Written  about  1758. 

Where  silver  Thames,  round  Twit'nam  meads 
His  winding  current  sweetly  leads, 
Twit'nam,  the  Muses'  fav'rite  Seat ! 
Twit'nam,  the  Graces'  loved  retreat! 

There,  polished  Essex  wont  to  sport ; 
The  pride  and  victim  of  a  Court! 

There,  Bacon  tuned  the  grateful  lyre 
To  soothe  Eliza's  haughty  ire! 
Ah  I    happy  had  no  meaner  strain 
Than  friendship's  dashed  his  mighty  vein! 

Twit'nam,  where  Hyde,  majestic  Sage, 
Retired  from  Folly's  frantic  Stage; 
While  his  vast  soul  was  hung  on  tenters 
To  mend  the  World,  and  vex  Dissenters. 

Twit'nam,  where  frolic  Wharton  revelled ! 
Where  Montagu,  with  locks  dishevelled 
(Conflict  of  dirt  and  warmth  divine !), 
Invoked,  and  scandalized,  the  Nine! 

Where  Pope,  in  moral  music  spoke 
To  the  anguished  soul  of  Bolingbroke, 
And  whispered.  How  true  genius  errs, 
Preferring  joys  that  Power  confers : 
Bliss  never  to  great  minds  arising 
From  ruling  Worlds  ;   but  from  despising ! 

Where  Fielding  met  his  bunter  Muse ; 
And,  as  they  quaffed  the  fiery  juice, 
156 


Horace    JValpole,  Earl  of  Orfoyd. 

Droll   Nature  stamped  each  lucky  hit 
With  inimaginable  wit! 

Where  Suffolk  sought  the  peaceful   scene  ; 
Resio-nine  Richmond  to  the  Oueen ; 
And  all  the  glory,  all  the  teasing, 
Of  pleasing  one  not  worth  the  pleasing! 

Where  Fanny,  ever-blooming  Fair ! 
Ejaculates  the  graceful  Prayer ; 
And  'scaped  from  Sense,  with  Nonsense  smit. 
For  Whitfield's  cant,  leaves  Stanhope's  wit. 

Amid  this  Choir  of  sounding  names 
Of  Statesmen,  Bards,  and  beauteous  Dames, 
Shall  the  last  Trifler  of  the  throng 
Enroll  his  own,  such  names  among? 
O,  no !     Enough,  if  I  consign 
To  lasting  types  their  notes  divine ! 
Enough,  if  Strawberry's  humble  Hill 
The  title-page  of  fame  shall  fill! 


What  a  rout  do  you  make  for  a  single  poor  kiss ! 

I  seized  it,  'tis  true!    and   I   ne'er  shall  repent  it! 
May  he  ne'er  enjoy  one,  who  shall  think  'twas  amiss ! 

But  for  me,  I  thank  dear  Cythekea  !  who  sent  it! 

You   may  pout,  and  look  prettily  cross ;    but   I   pray 
What  business,  so  near  to  my  lips  had  your  cheek  ? 

If  you  will  put  temptation  so  pat  in  one's  way, 
Saints!  resist  if  ye  can  ;  but,  for  me,  I'm  too  weak  ! 

157 


Horace  JValpole,  Earl  of  Orford. 

But  come,  my  sweet  Fanny  !   our  quarrel  let 's  end ! 

Nor  will  I,  by  force,  what  you  gave  not,  retain  I 
By  allowing  the  kiss,   I'm  for  ever  your  friend ! 

If  you  say,  that  I  stole  it;  why,  take  it  again! 

777^  ADVICE. 

'  The  business  of  Woman,  dear  Chloe  !  is  Pleasure ; 
And,by  love,  ev'ry  Fair  One  her  minutes  should  measure! 
"  O,  for  Love,  we're  all  ready ! "  you  cry.     Very  true ! 
Nor  would  I  rob  the  gentle  fond  God  of  his  due! 
Unless  in  the  sentiments  Cupid  has  part. 
And  dips  in  the  amorous  transport  his  dart, 
'Tis  tumult!    disorder  I   'tis  loathing  and  hate! 
Caprice  gives  it  birth ;   and  Contempt  is  its  fate ! 

*  True  Passion  insensibly  leads  to  the  joy ; 
And  grateful  Esteem  bids  its  pleasures  ne'er  cloy ! 
Yet  here,  you  should  stop !    But  your  whimsical  Sex, 
Such  romantic  ideas  to  Passion  annex. 
That  poor  Men,  by  your  visions  and  jealousy  worried, 
To  Nymphs  less  ecstatic,  but  kinder,  are  hurried  I 
In  your  heart,  I  consent,  let  your  wishes  be  bred ; 
Only  take  care  your  heart  don't  get  into  your  head ! 


Left    on   the   Duchess   of   Queensberry's   Toilet, 
THE   Author   finding   her   from   home. 

To  many  a  Kitty,  Love  his  car 

Would  for  a  day  engage ; 
But  Prior's  Kitty,  ever  fair,      seeVoLvm,  p.84. 


Retains  it  for  an  Age 


158 


Isaac  Bickersfaffc. 


SONGS  FROM  'LOVE   IN  A    VILLAGE. 

1763. 

There  was  a  jolly  Miller  once 

Lived  on  the  river  Dee, 
He  worked  and  sang,  from  morn  till  night. 

No  lark  more  blithe  than  he  ! 
And  this,  the  burden  of  his  Song, 

For  ever  used  to  be, 
I   care  for  nobody,  not  I  ! 

If  no  one  cares  for  me ! ' 


Rossetta.HoveI    thou  Nurse  of  young  Desire! 
Fairy  promiser  of  joy! 
Painted  vapour  !    glow-worm  fire  ! 

Temp'rate  sweet,  that  ne'er  can  cloy ! 

LuciNDA.    Hope!    thou  earnest  of  delight! 
Softest  soother  of  the  mind ! 
Balmy  cordial !    prospect  bright ! 
Surest  friend  the  wretched  find ! 

Both.  Kind  deceiver,  flatter  still ! 

Deal  out  pleasures  unpossessed! 
With  thy  dreams  my  fancy  fill ; 
And  in  wishes  make  me  blessed  ! 
159 


yohn  Gilbert  Cooper. 


Dear  Chloe  !    what  means  this  disdain, 
Which  blasts  each  endeavour  to  please  ? 

Though  forty,  I'm  free  from  all  pain ! 
Save  love,  I  am  free  from  disease ! 


No  Graces,  my  mansion  have  fled! 

No  Muses  have  broken  my  lyre ! 
The  Loves  frolic  still  round  my  bed  ; 

And  Laughter  is  cheered  at  my  fire ! 


To  none,  have  I  ever  been  cold ! 

All  Beauties  in  vogue  I'm  among ! 
I've  appetite  e'en  for  the  old ; 

And  spirit  enough  for  the  young! 


Believe  me,  sweet  Girl !    I  speak  true ; 

Or  else  put  my  love  to  the  test ! 
Some  others  have  doubted  like  you ! 

Like  them,  do  you  bless  and  be  blest! 


i6o 


Anonymous. 


Though  his  Passion  in  silence  the  Youth  would  conceal. 
What  his  tongue  will  not  utter,  his  eyes  still  reveal ; 
And,  by  soft  stolen  glances,  unwillingly  prove 
That  they  are  the  tell-tales  of  Celadon's  love. 

To  tlie  Grove,  to  the  Green,  to  the  Dance,  to  the  Fair, 
Wherever  I  go,  my  blithe  Shepherd  is  there  ! 
I   know  the  fond  Youth  by  his  blush,  by  his  smile; 
And,  surely,  such   looks  were  not  meant  to  beguile! 

Though  indiffrent  the  subject,  whatever  it  prove, 
He  insensibly  turns  the  discourse  upon  Love  ! 
If  he  talk  to  another,  with  pleasure  I  see, 
Though  his  words  are  to  her,  yet  his  looks  are  to  me  ! 

Sometimes,   I   command  him,  his  speech  to  refrain  ; 
But,  alas !    my  resolves  !     I   command  it  in  vain  ! 
For,  when  the  dear  theme  he'll  no  longer  pursue, 
I   forget  my  commands  ;    and  resume  it  anew ! 

\\  hen  he  talks,  if  alone,   I   am  ever  in   fear 

He  should  speak  what  I  dread,  and  yet  wish,  most  to 

hear ! 
Should  he  mention  his  love,  though  my  pride  should 

deny, 
My  heart  whispers,  '  Cf.lia  !    fond  Ci-lia  !    comply!' 


Bf'IT.  ANTII.    IX.  M  l6l 


Anonymous. 


THE  JOYS  OF  LOVE  NEVER  FORGOT. 


Dear  Chloe  !    while  thus,  beyond  measure, 

You  treat  me  with  doubts  and  disdain, 
You  rob  all  your  Youth  of  its  pleasure ; 

And  hoard  up  an  Old  Age  of  pain  ! 
Your  maxim,   That  Love  's  only  founded 

On  charms  that  will  quickly  decay  ! 
You'll  find  to  be  very  ill  grounded; 

When  once  you  its  dictates  obey. 


The  Passion  from  beauty  first  drawn, 

Your  kindness  would  vastly  improve ! 
Your  sight  and  your  smiles  are  the  Dawn, 

Possession  's  the  Sunshine,  of  Love ! 
And  though  the  bright  beams  of  your  eyes 

Should  be  clouded,  that  now  are  so  gay, 
And  darkness  possess  all  the  skies ; 

Yet  we  ne'er  shall  forget  it  was  Day 
162 


Anonymous. 


Old  Darby,  with  Joan  by  his  side, 

You've  often  regarded  with  wonder! 
He  is  dropsical,  she  is  sore-eyed  ; 

Yet  they're  ever  uneasy  asunder! 
Together  they  totter  about, 

Or  sit  in  the  sun  at  the  door ; 
And,  at  night,  when  old   Darby's  pot  's  out, 

His  Joan  will  not  smoke  a  whiff  more! 


No  beauty  nor  wit  they  possess, 

Their  several  failings  to  smother; 
Then,  What  are  the  charms,  can  you  guess  ? 

That  make  them  so  fond  of  each  other  ? 
*Tis  the  pleasing  remembrance  of  Youth, 

The  endearments  which  that  did  bestow  I 
The  thoughts  of  past  pleasure  and  truth, 

The  best  of  our  blessingrs  below  I 


Those  traces  for  ever  will  last. 

Where  Sickness  and  Time  can't  remove? 
For  when  Youth  and   Beauty  are  past, 

And  Age  brings  the  Winter  of  Love, 
A  friendship  insensibly  grows. 

By  reviews  of  such   raptures  as  these ! 
The  current  of  fondness  still  flows, 

Which  decrepit  Old  Age  cannot  freeze ! 

M  2  163 


Anony7nous. 


Kitty's  charming  Voice  and  Face, 
Siren-like,  first  caught  my  fancy. 

Wit  and  Humour  next  take  place  ; 
And  now  I  dote  on  sprightly  Nancy  ! 


Kitty  tunes  her  pipe,  in  vain, 

With  Airs  most  languishing  and  dying; 
Calls  me  '  false  ungrateful  Swain ! ' 

And  tries,  in  vain,  to  shoot  me,  flying. 


Nancy,  with  resistless  art, 

Always  humorous,  gay,  and  witty, 
Has  talked  herself  into  my  heart; 

And  quite  excluded  tuneful  Kitty. 


Ah!    Kitty!    Love,  a  wanton  Boy, 

Now  pleased  with  Song,  and  now  with  prattle. 
Still  longing  for  the  newest  toy, 

Has  changed  his  whistle  for  a  rattle! 


164 


Lady  Dorofhea  D?i  Bo  is. 


A  Scholar  first  my  love  implored; 
And  then  an  empty  titled   Lord. 
The   Pedant  talked  in   lofty  strains ! 
Alas!    his  Lordship  wanted  brains! 
I  listened  not  to  one  or  t'other ; 
But  straight  referred  them  to  my  mother. 

A   Poet  next  my  love  assailed, 
A   Lawyer  hoped  to  have  prevailed ; 
The  Bard  too  much  approved  himself, 
The  Lawyer  thirsted  after  pelf. 
I   listened  not  to  one  or  t'other : 
But  still  referred  them   to  my  mother. 

An  Officer,  my  heart  would  storm, 
A  Miser  sought  me  too,  in  form  ; 
But  Mars  was  over-free  and  bold, 
The  Miser's  heart  was  in  his  gold. 
I   listened  not  to  one  or  t'other ; 
Referring   still  unto  my  mother. 

And,  after  them,  some   twenty  more 
Successless  were,  as  those  before ; 
When  Damon,  lovely  Damon  !    came. 
Our  hearts  straight  felt  a  mutual   flame! 
I   vowed   I'd  have  him,  and  no  other; 
Without  referring  to  my  mother. 

165 


Lady  Dorothea  Du  Bois, 


A  BALLAD. 

Let  who  will,  complain  of  the  troubles  they  meet; 

They're  matter  of  laughter  to  me ! 
A  dash  of  the  bitter,  the  sweet  makes  more  sweet; 

I  therefore  contented  will  be! 

If  Fortune  looks  kindly,  I'll  bask  in  her  smiles! 

If,  frowning;    my  comfort  is  still. 
That  life  's  but  a  span,  and  Good  Humour  beguiles 

The  time,  be  it  bad  as  it  will ! 

My  friend  proves  unfaithful  ;   I'll  seek  out  a  new, 

Nor  trouble  my  head  about  that! 
I'll  pity  the  changeling !    I'll  honour  the  true ! 

And  cheerfully  laugh  and  be  fat ! 

What  though  I  a  coach  and  six  horses  can't  have, 

To  which  I've  a  very  good  right; 
A  pair  of  good  legs  hath  kind   Providence  gave, 

With  a  heart  that  's  both  honest  and  light. 

My  frame  's  not  unwieldy,  'tis  active  and  sound! 

My  appetite,  not  very  great! 
A  scanty  provision  sufficient  is  found, 

If  cleanly  and  wholesome  to  eat. 

i66 


Lady  Dorothea  Du  Bois. 


Let  epicures  feast  on  their  turtles,  for  me ! 

Their  ortolans,   pheasants,  and  sturgeon ! 
With   Frenchified  dishes,  high  sauces,  and  be 

A  prey  to  the   Doctor  and  Surgeon ! 

With  all  kinds  of  wine,  let  them  pamper  their  taste ; 

Nor  aught  to  their  palates  deny ! 
If  they,  to  their  latter  end  wilfully  haste  ; 

Themselves  are  to  blame,  and  not  I ! 

On  dress,  pomp,  and  grandeur,   I  fix  not  my  mind; 

They're  matters  unworthy  a  care  ! 
Beneath  those  fine  trappings,  we  oftentimes  find 

The  pang  of  remorse  and  despair! 

Gay   Pleasure  's  a  phantom  exceedingly  fair ; 

Which  vainly  we  hope  to  embrace ! 
We  grasp  at  a  substance ;    she  melts  into  air, 

And  leaves  not  behind  her  a  trace ! 

Then,  why  should  we  make  such  a  pother  about 

What  no  one  could  ever  attain  ? 
Though  the  sweet  illusion  is  tempting,  no  doubt ! 

'Tis  banished  by  old  age  and  pain. 

But  soon  we  the  idle  pursuit  of  her  charms, 
By  dear-bought  experience,  despise  ; 

Then,  blooming  Good  Humour!  still  dwell  in  my  arms! 
My  motto  be — Merry  and  Wise ! 


167 


Lady  Dorothea  Du  Bois. 


A  FABLE. 

Old  Time  and  Pleasure,  on  a  day, 

Once  met,  as  they  did  walk, 
'  Dear  Time  ! '   says   Pleasure,  '  prithee,  stay 

Let  's  have  some  friendly  talk!' 


'  Alluring  Fair ! '    said  he,  '  I  know 
The  World  are  slaves  to  thee ! 

Upon  thee,  ev'ry  thought  bestow ; 
And  make  no  store  of  me! 


*  My  destined  race  I  still  pursue ; 

Nor  can  one  moment  stay, 
Lest  those  blind  crowds  that  follow  you, 

O'ertake  me  on  my  way.' 


Then  swift  along  the  plain  he  ran ; 

While  loitering  Pleasure  stood. 
To  intercept  the  view  of  Man, 

Enticinof  all  she  could. 


Some  few,  indeed,  kept  up  with  Time, 
That  her  temptations  shun  ; 

But  such  as  with  gay  Pleasure  chime, 
Delay,  and  are  undone ! 

i68  


Charlotte  Sophia,  Oucoi  Coiisoji  of  George  III. 


VERSES 

handed  about,  as  the  production  of 
Her  present  Majestv. 

'Genteel  is  my  Damon,  engaging  his  Air! 
His  face,  like  the  morn,  is  both  ruddy  and  fair! 
Soft  Love  sits  enthroned  in  the  beam  of  his  eyes  I 
He   s  manly,  yet  tender!    He  's  fond,  and  yet  wise! 


'  He  's  ever  good-humoured!   He  's  generous  and  gay! 
His  presence  can  always  drive  Sorrow  away! 
No  vanity  sways  him,  no  folly  is  seen  ; 
But  open  his  temper,  and  noble  his  mien. 


'By  virtue   illumined  his  actions  appear! 

His  Passions  are  calm,  and  his  reason  is  clear 

An  affable  sweetness  attends  on  his  speech  ! 

He  is  willing  to  learn,  though  he  's  able  to  teach 


'  He  has  promised  to  love  me!    His  word  I'll  believe  ; 
For  his  heart  is  too  honest  to  let  him  deceive  ! 
Then  blame  me,  ye   Fair  Ones !    if  justly  ye  can ; 
Since   the  picture   I've  di;iun   is  exactly  the   Man!' 

1(39 


Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  Bart. 


My  sheep  I  neglected,  I  lost  my  sheep-hook ; 
And  all  the  gay  haunts  of  my  youth  I  forsook. 
No  more  for  Amynta  fresh  garlands  I  wove, 
*  For  Ambition,'  I  said,  *  would  soon  cure  my  love ! ' 

O,  what  had  my  youth  with   Ambition  to  do  ? 

Why  left  I  Amynta  ?    Why  broke  I  my  vow  ? 

Through  regions  remote  in  vain  do  I  rove, 
And  bid  the  wide  ocean  secure  me  from  love. 
O,  fool !    to  imagine  that  aught  can  subdue 
A  love  so  well  founded !   a  Passion  so  true ! 

O,  give  me  my  sheep;  and  my  sheep-hook  restore! 

I'll  wander  from  love  and  Amynta  no  more ! 

Alas  !    'Tis  too  late,  at  my  fate  to  repine ! 
Poor  Shepherd !    Amynta  no  more  can  be  thine ! 
Thy  tears  are  all  fruitless  !    Thy  wishes  are  vain ! 
The  moments  neglected  return  not  again  ! 

O,  what  had  my  youth  with  Ambition  to  do  ? 

Why  left  I  Amynta  ?     Why  broke  I  my  vow  ? 


JANE  ELLIOT. 

FLODDEN  FIELD 

OR 

FLOWERS  OF  THE  FOREST. 


170 


Jane  Elliot. 


I've  heard  of  a  lilting,  at  our  ewes'  milking, 
Lasses  a'  lilting  before  the  break  of  day  ; 

But  now  there  's  moaning  on  ilka  green  loaning, 
That  our  braw  Foresters  are  a'  wede  away. 

At  bughts,  in  the  morning,  nae  blyth  Lads  are  scorning. 

The  Lasses  are  lonely,  dowie,  and  wae  : 
Nae  daffin,  nae  gabbin  ;    but  sighing  and  sabbing. 

Ilk  ane  lifts  her  leglin,  and  hies  her  away. 

At  e'en,  at  the  gloming,  nae  Swankies  are  roaming 
'Mong  stacks,  with  the  Lasses  at  bogle  to  play  ; 

But  ilk  ane  sits  dreary,  lamenting  her  deary, 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  that  are  wede  away. 

At  Har'st,  at  the  Shearing,  nae  Younkers  are  jearing. 

The  bansters  are  runkled,  lyart,  and  grey. 
At  a  Fair,  or  a  Preaching,  nae  wooing,  nae  fleeching, 

Since  our  braw  Foresters  are  a'  wede  away. 

O.  (lool  for  the  order,  sent  our  Lads  to  the  Border ! 

The  English  for  ance,  by  guile,  gat  the  day : 
The  Flower  of  the  Forest,  that  ay  shone  the  foremost, 

The  prime  of  our  land  lyes  cauld  in  the  clay. 

We'll  hear  nae  mair  lilting  at  our  ewes'   milking! 

The  women  and  bairns  are  dowie  and  wae, 
Sighing  and  moaning  on  ilka  green  loaning, 

Since  our  braw   Foresters  are  a'  wede  away. 
171 


Aliso7t  Cockburn. 


FLOWERS  OF  THE  FOREST, 
I've  seen  the  smilino- 

o 

Of  Fortune  beguiling ! 
I've  felt  all  its  favours ;   and  found  its  decay ! 

Sweet  was  its  blessing, 

Kind,  its  caressing  ; 
But  now,  'tis  fled — fled  far  away ! 

I've  seen  the  Forest 

Adorned  the  foremost 
With  flowers  of  the  fairest,  most  pleasant  and  gay ; 

Sae  bonny  was  their  blooming. 

Their  scent  the  air  perfuming; 
But  now  they  are  withered  and  weeded  away  1 

I've  seen  the  morning, 

With  gold  the  hills  adorning ; 

And  loud  tempest  storming  before  the  midday ! 
I've  seen  Tweed's  silver  streams 
Shining  in  the  sunny  beams, 

Grow  drumbly  and  dark,  as  he  rowed  on  his  way ! 

O,  fickle  Fortune ! 

Why  this  cruel  sporting  ? 
O,  why  still  perplex  us,  poor  sons  of  a  day  ? 

Nae  mair  your  smiles  can  chear  me ! 

Nae  mair  your  frowns  can  fear  me ! 
For  the  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  withered  away! 
172  


Anonymous. 


Tis  a  twelvemonth  ago,  nay!  perhaps,  they  are  twain. 
Since  Thirsis  neglected  the  Nymphs  of  the  plain ; 
And  would  tempt  me  to  walk  the  gay  meadows  along, 
To  hear  a  soft  Tale,  or  to  sing  him  a  Song. 


What,  at  first,  was  but  friendship,  soon  grew  to  a  flame! 
In  my  heart,  it  was  Love!  In  the  Youth,  'twas  the  same  I 
From  each  other  our  Passion  we  sought  not  to  hide  ; 
But  who  should  love  most,  was  our  contest  and  pride ! 


But  Prudence  soon  whispered  us,  *  Love  not  too  well  I 
For  Envy  has  eyes,  and  a  tongue  that  will  tell ! 
And  a  flame  without  P"ortune's  rich  grifts  on  its  side. 
The  Grave  Ones  will  scorn  ;  and  a  Mother  must  chide!' 


Afraid  of  rebukes,  he  his  visits  forbore; 
And  we  promised  to  think  of  each  other  no  more: 
Or  to  tarry,  with  patience,  a  season  more  kind. 
So  I  put  the  dear  Shepherd  quite  out  of  my  mind  ! 


But  Love  breaks  the  fences   I   vainly  had  made, 
Grows  deaf  to  all  censure,  and  will  be  repaid  ! 
It   we  sigh  for  each  other,  ah!    quit  not  your  care! 
Condemn  the  God  Cupid  ;    but  bless  the  fond  pair 

173 


Thomas  Percy ^  Bishop  of  Dromore. 


O,  Nancy  !    wilt  thou  go  with  me  ; 

Nor  sigh  to  leave  the  flaunting  Town  ? 
Can  silent  glens  have  charms  for  thee, 

The  lowly  cot,  and  russet  gown  ? 
No  longer  dressed  in  silken  sheen  ! 

No  longer  decked  with  jewels  rare ! 
Say,  canst  thou  quit  each  courtly  scene, 

Where  thou  wert  fairest  of  the  Fair  ? 


O,  Nancy  !   when  thou'rt  far  away, 

Wilt  thou  not  cast  a  wish  behind  ? 
Say,  canst  thou  face  the  parching  ray ; 

Nor  shrink  before  the  wintry  wind  ? 
O,  can  that  soft  and  gentle  mien, 

Extremes  of  hardship  learn  to  bear ; 
Nor  sad  regret  each  courtly  scene 

Where  thou  wert  fairest  of  the  Fair? 


174 


TJwnias  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dronwre. 

O,   Nancy!    canst  thou  love  so  true, 

Through  perils  keen  with  me  to  go  ; 
Or  when  thy  Swain  mishap  shall  rue, 

To  share  with  him  the  pang  of  woe  ? 
Say,  should  disease,  or  pain,  betall, 

Wilt  thou  assume  the  Nurse's  care  ; 
Nor,  wistful,  those  gay  scenes  recall 

Where  thou  wert  fairest  of  the  Fair  ? 


And  when,  at  last,  thy  Love  shall  die, 

Wilt  thou  receive  his  parting  breath  ? 
Wilt  thou  repress  each  struggling  sigh  ; 

And  cheer  with  smiles  the  bed  of  death  ? 
And  wilt  thou,  o'er  his  breathless  clay. 

Strew  flowers,  and  drop  the  tender  tear ; 
Nor  then  regret  those  scenes  so  gay, 

Where  thou  wert  fairest  of  the  Fair  ? 


»75 


Thomas  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore, 


THE  FRIAR   OF  ORDERS  GRAY. 

Dispersed  through  Shakespeare  s  Plays  are  innumer- 
able little  fragments  of  ancient  Ballads,  the  entire  copies 
of  which  could  not  be  recovered.  Many  of  these  being  of 
the  most  beaidiful  and  pathetic  simplicity,  the  Editor 
\of  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry]  ivas  tempted  to 
select  some  of  them,  and,  with  a  few  supplemental  stanzas, 
to  connect  them  together,  and  form,  them  into  a  little  Tale; 
which  is  here  submitted  to  the  Reader's  ca?idour. 

One  small  fragment  was  taken  from  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher. 

[A  Cento.] 

It  was  a  Friar  of  Orders  Gray 

Walked  forth  to  tell  his  beads ; 
And  he  met  with  a  Lady  fair, 

Clad  in  a  Pilerim's  weeds. 


't> 


'  Now,  Christ  thee  save,  thou  reverend  Friar ! 

I  pray  thee,  tell  to  me, 
If  ever,  at  yon  Holy  Shrine, 

My  True  Love  thou  didst  see  ? ' 

*  And  how  should  I  know  your  True  Love 
From  many  another  one  ? '  see  voi.  iv.  p.  9. 

'  O,  by  his  cockle  hat  and  staff, 
And  by  his  sandal  shoon! 

176 


Thomas  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore. 

'But  chiefly  b)'  his  face  and  mien, 

That  were  so  fair  to  view ! 
His  flaxen  locks  that  sweetly  curled, 

And  eyne  of  lovely  blue  ! ' 

'  O,  Lady !    he  is  dead  and  gone  ! 

Lady!    he  's  dead  and  gone!  see vol iv, p. 9. 

And  at  his  head  a  green  grass  turf; 

And  at  his  heels  a  stone. 

'  Within  these  holy  Cloisters  long 

He  languished,  and  he  died; 
Lamenting  of  a  Lady's  love, 

And  'plaining  of  her  pride. 

'  Here  bore  him  bare-faced  on  his  bier, 

Six  proper  youths  and  tall ; 
And  many  a  tear  bedewed  his  grave 

Within  yon   Kirkyard  wall.' 

'  And  art  thou  dead  ?    thou  gentle  Youth ! 

And  art  thou  dead  and  gone  ? 
And  didst  thou  die  for  love  of  me  ? 

Break,   cruel  heart  of  stone  I ' 

*  O,   weep  not.   Lady !    weep  not  so  ! 

Some  ghostly  comfort  seek  ! 
Let  not  vain  sorrow  rive  thy  heart ; 

Ne  tears   bedew  thy  cheek!' 

BRIT.  ASTH.     IX.  N  I?? 


Thomas  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore. 

*  O,  do  not,  do  not,  holy  Friar ! 

My  sorrow  now  reprove ! 
For  I  have  lost  the  sweetest  Youth 
That  e'er  wan  Lady's  love ! 

*  And,  now,  alas !   for  thy  sad  loss, 

I'll  evermore  weep  and  sigh  ! 
For  thee,   I  only  wished  to  live ; 
For  thee,   I  wish  to  die!' 

'Weep  no  more.  Lady!    weep  no  more! 

Thy  sorrow  is  in  vain  I 
For  violets  plucked,  the  sweetest  showers 

Will  ne'er  make  grow  again! 

'Our  Joys  as  winged  dreams  do  fly! 

Why  then,  should  Sorrow  last  ? 
Since  grief  but  aggravates  thy  loss, 

Grieve  not  for  what  is  past!' 

'  O,  say  not  so !   thou  holy  Friar ! 

I  pray  thee,  say  not  so ! 
For  since  my  True  Love  died  for  me, 

'Tis  meet  my  tears  should  flow! 

'  And  will  he  ne'er  come  again  ? 

Will  he  ne'er  come  again  ? 
Ah !   no !    He  is  dead,  and  laid  in  his  grave, 

For  ever  to  remain ! 
178 


Thomas  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dronwrc. 

'His  cheek  was  redder  than  the  rose! 

The  comeHest  Youth  was  he ! 
But  he  is  dead,  and  laid  in  his  grave! 

Alas  !   and  woe  is  me ! ' 

'Sigh  no  more,  Lady!     Sigh  no  more! 

Men  were  deceivers  ever!  seevoi. iv, p. u. 

One  foot  on  sea,  and  one  on  land ; 

To  one  thino-  constant  never! 

O 

*  Hadst  thou  been  fond,  he  had  been  false; 

And  left  thee  sad  and  heavy! 
For  young  men  ever  were  fickle  found 

Since  summer  trees  were  leafy!' 

'  Now,  say  not  so,  thou  holy  Friar ! 

I  pray  thee,  say  not  so ! 
My  Love  he  had  the  truest  heart! 

O,  he  was  ever  true! 

'  And  art  thou  dead  ?   thou  much-loved  Youth  ! 

And  didst  thou  die  for  me  ? 
Then  farewell,  home  !     For  evermore 

A   Pilgrim  I  will  be! 

'  But  first  upon  my  True  Love's  grave, 

My  weary  limbs  I'll  lay! 
And  thrice   I'll  kiss  the  oreen  erass  turf 

That  wraps  his  breathless  clay!' 

N  a  179 


Thomas  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore. 

'  Yet  stay,  fair  Lady  !     Rest  a  while 

Beneath  this  cloister  wall ! 
See,  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  cold  wind ; 

And  drizzly  rain  doth  fall ! ' 

*  O,  stay  me  not,  thou  holy  Friar ! 

O,  stay  me  not,  I  pray! 
No  drizzly  rain  that  falls  on  me, 
Can  wash  my  fault  away ! ' 

'  Yet  stay,  fair  Lady !   turn  again. 

And  dry  those  pearly  tears! 
For  see,  beneath  this  gown  of  gray, 

Thy  own  True  Love  appears! 

*  Here,  forced  by  grief  and  hopeless  love, 

These  holy  weeds  I  sought ; 
And  here,  amid  these  lonely  walls, 
To  end  my  days  I  thought. 

'But  haply,  for  my  Year  of  Grace 

Is  not  yet  passed  away. 
Might  I  still  hope  to  win  thy  love, 

No  longer  would  I  stay!' 

'Now  farewell,  Grief!   and  welcome,  Joy, 

Once  more  unto  my  heart! 
For,  since  I  have  found  thee,  lovely  Youth! 

We  never  more  will  part  I ' 


i8o 


Anonymous. 


NATURE  AND  GARRICK. 

As  Nature  and  Garrick  were  talking  one  day, 
It  chanced  they  had  words,  and  fell  out! 

Dame  Reason  would  fain  have  prevented  a  fray  ; 
But  could  not,  they  both  were  so  stout ! 

Says  Garrick,  '  I   honour  you,  Madam  !    'tis  true  ! 

And  with  pride  to  your  laws  I  submit! 
But  Shakespeare  paints  stronger  and  better  than  you, 

All  critics  of  taste  will  admit ! ' 

'How!    Shakespeare  paint  stronger  and  better  than 
Cries  Nature,  quite  touched  to  the  soul,      [me!' 

'  Not  a  word  in  his  volumes  I  ever  could  see, 
But  what  from  my  records  he  stole! 

'And  thou,  wicked  thief!     Nay!    the  story   I'll  tell! 

Whenever  I   paint,  or   I   draw. 
My  pencils  you  filch,  and  my  colours  you  steal! 

For  which,  thou  shalt  suffer  the  law ! 

'And  when,  on  the  Stage,   in  full  lustre  you  shine; 

To  me  all  the  praise  shall  be  given  ! 
The  toil  shall  be  yours;   and  the  honour  be  mine!' 

So  Nature  and  Garrick  are  even ! 

— i8t 


V 


JVilliam  Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham. 


TO  MR.    GARRICK. 

From  Mount  Edgecumbe. 

T-EAVE,  Garrick  !  the  rich  landscape  proudly  gay ! 
Docks,  Forts,  and  Navies  bright'ning  all  the  Bay ! 
To  my  plain  roof  repair  !    primeval   Seat ! 
Yet  there,  no  wonders  your  quick  eye  can  meet, 
Save  (should  you  deem  it  wonderful !)  to  find 
Ambition  cured,  and  an  unpassioned  mind  ! 
A  Statesman  without  power,  and  without  gall  ; 
Hating  no  Courtiers !    happier  than  them  all ! 
Bowed  to  no  yoke,  nor  crouching  for  applause  ; 
Vot'ry  alone  to  Freedom  and  the  laws  ! 

Herds,  flocks,  and  smiling  Ceres  deck  our  plain; 
And,  interspersed,  a  heart-enliv'ning  Train 
Of  sportive  children  frolic  o'er  the  green  : 
Meantime,  pure  love  looks  on  and  consecrates  the  scene. 

Come,  then,  immortal  Spirit  of  the   Stage ! 
Great  Nature's  proxy!    Glass  of  every  Age!  1 

Come,  taste  the  simple  life  of  Patriarchs  old ; 
Who,  rich  in  rural  peace,  ne'er  thought  of  pomp  or  gold! 


182 


David  Gavrick. 


Upon    the   Earl    of    Chatham's    Verses 
TO   A/r.    Garrick. 

When  Peleus'  son,  untaught  to  yield, 
Wrathful,  forsook   the  hostile  Field  ; 
His  breast  still  warm  with  heavenly  fire, 
He  tuned  the  Lay  and  swept  the  Lyre. 

So  Chatham  (whose  exalted  soul 
Pervaded  and  inspired  the  whole, 
Where  far,  by  martial  glory  led, 
Britain,  her  sails  and  banners  spread) 
Retires,  though  wisdom's  God  dissuades  ; 
And  seeks  repose  in  rural  shades. 
Yet  thither  comes  the  God  confest, 
Celestial  Form,  a  well-known  guest! 

Nor  slow  he  moves  with  solemn  Air, 
Nor  on  his  brow  hangs  pensive  care ; 
Nor  in  his  hand  th'  historic  page 
Gives  lessons  to  experienced  age. 
As  when,  in  vengeful  ire,  he  rose 
And  planned  the  fate  of  Britain's  foes; 
While  the  winged   Hours  obedient  stand, 
And  instant  speed  the  dread  command. 

Cheerful  he  came,  all  blithe  and  gay. 
Fair  blooming  like  the  Son  of  May ! 
Adown  his  radiant  shoulder  hung 
A    Harp,  by  all  the  Muses  strung; 
Smiling,  he  to  his  friend   resigned 
This  soother  of  the  human  mind  ! 

i83 


David  Garrick. 


Ye  fair  married  Dames !    who  so  often  deplore 
That  a  Lover  once  blessed,  is  a  Lover  no  more; 
Attend  to  my  counsel !    nor  blush  to  be  taught, 
That  Prudence  must  cherish  what  Beauty  has  caught ! 

Use  the  man  that  you  wed,  like  your  fav'rite  guitar! 
Though  music  in  both  ;    they  are  both  apt  to  jar ! 
How  tuneful  and  soft,  from  a  delicate  touch ! 
Not  handled  too  roughly,  nor  played  on  too  much. 

The  linnet  and  sparrow  will  feed  from  your  hand. 
Grow  fond  by  your  kindness,  and  come  at  command ; 
Exert,  with  your  Husband,  the  same  happy  skill ! 
For  hearts,  like  your  birds,  may  be  tamed  to  your  will ! 

Be  gay  and  good-humoured,  complying  and  kind ! 
Turn  the  chief  of  your  care  from  your  face  to  your 

mind ! 
'Tis  there,  that  the  Wife  may  her  conquest  improve ; 
And  Hymen  will  rivet  the  fetters  of  Love ! 


Once  more,  I  tune  the  vocal  shell ! 
To  hills  and  dales  my  Passion  tell  ! 
A  flame  which  time  can  never  quell ; 

But  burns  for  lovely  Peggy  ! 
Yet  greater  Bards  the  lyre  should  hit! 
For  say,  What  subject  is  more  fit 
Than  to  record  the  sparkling  wit 

And  bloom  of  lovely  Peggy  ?  .  .  . 
184 


David  Garrick. 


Were  she  arrayed  in  rustic  weed  ; 
With  her  the  bleating  flocks   I'd  feed, 
And  pipe  upon  mine  oaten  reed, 

To  please  my  lovely  Peggy  ! 
With  her.  a  cottage  would  delight! 
All  's  happy  when  she  's  in  my  sight; 
But  when  she  's  gone,  it  's  endless  night 

All  's  dark  without  my  Peggy! 


The  zephyr  air,  the  violet  blows; 
Or  breathes  upon  the  damask  rose, 
He  does  not  half  the  sweets  disclose 

That  does  my  lovely  Peggy  ! 
I  stole  a  kiss,  the  other  day  ; 
And,  trust  me  !  nought  but  truth   I  say ! 
The  fragrant  breath  of  blooming  May 

Was  not  so  sweet  as  Peggy  ! 


While  bees  from  flower  to  flower  shall  rove, 
And  linnets  warble  through  the  grove, 
Or  stately  swans  the  waters  love  ; 

So  lon<r  shall  I  love  Peggy  ! 
And  when   Death,  with  his  pointed  dart, 
Shall  strike  the  blow  that  rives   my  heart ; 
My  words  shall  be,  when   I   depart, 

'  Adieu  !    my  lovely  Peggy  ! ' 


185 


David  Garrick. 


Come,  cheer  up,  my  Lads!   'tis  to  Glory  we  steer! 
To  add  something  more  to  this  wonderful  year  [ijsg] ! 
To  Honour  we  call  you;   not  press  you  like  slaves! 
For  who  are  so  free  as  we  Sons  of  the  Waves  ? 

Heart  of  Oak  are  our  ships! 

Heart  of  Oak  are  our  men! 

We  always  are  ready ! 

Steady  !    Boys  !    steady  ! 
We'll  fight;    and  we'll  conquer  again  and  again! 

We  ne'er  see  our  foes,  but  we  wish  them  to  stay! 
They  never  see  us,  but  they  wish  us  away  ! 
If  they  run ;  why,  we  follow,  and  run  them  ashore ; 
For  if  they  won't  fight  us,  we  cannot  do  more! 
Heart  of  Oak  are  our  ships!    &c. 

They  swear,  They'll  invade  us !   these  terrible  foes ! 
They  frighten  our  women,  our  children,  and  Beaus ! 
But  should  their  Flat-bottoms  in  darkness  get  o'er ; 
Still  Britons  they'll  find  to  receive  them  on  shore ! 
Heart  of  Oak  are  our  ships!    &c. 

We'll  still  make  them  run ;  and  we'll  still  make  them 

sweat  I 
In  spite  of  the  Devil  and  Brussels'  Gazette, 
Then,  cheer  up,  my  Lads  I  With  one  heart,  let  us  sing, 
'Our  Soldiers!  our  Sailors!  our  Statesmen!  and  King!' 
Heart  of  Oak  are  our  ships !    &c. 

186  


David  Garrick. 


Come,  come,  my  good  Shepherds  !  our  flocks  we  must 

shear ! 
In  your  holiday  suits,  with  your  Lasses  appear! 
The  happiest  of  folk  are  the  guiltless  and  free  ; 
And  who  are  so  guiltless,  so  happy,  as  we  ? 

We  harbour  no  Passions  by  luxury  taught, 
We  practise  no  arts  with  hypocrisy  fraught ; 
What  we  think  in  our  hearts,  you  may  read  in  our  eyes  ! 
For,  knowing  no  falsehood,  we  need  no  disguise  ! 

By  mode  and  caprice  are  the  City  Dames  led  ; 
But  we,  as  the  Children  of  Nature  are  bred. 
By  her  hand  alone,  we  are  painted  and  drest ; 
For   the   roses   will   bloom,   when    there  's  peace   in 
the  breast ! 

That  giant,  Ambition,  we  never  can  dread  ; 
Our  roofs  are  too  low  for  so  lofty  a  head  ! 
Content  and  sweet  Cheerfulness  open  our  door; 
They  smile  with  the  simple,  and  feed  with  the  poor ! 

When  love  has  possessed  us,  that  love  wc  reveal ! 
Like  the  flocks  that  we  feed,  are  the  Passions  we  feel ! 
So,  harmless  and  simple,  we  sport  and  we  play  ; 
And  leave  to  fine  folks  to  deceive  and  betray ! 

187 


David  Garrick. 


OXFORDSHIRE  NANCY  BEWITCHED. 

Though  I'm  slim,  and  am  young,  and  was  lively  and 

fair; 
Could  sing  a  sweet  Song,  and  in  others  kill  care : 
Yet  I'm  surely  bewitched !   for  I  can't  drive  away 
What  makes  me  so  restless  by  night  and  by  day! 
In  vain,   I  perplex  my  poor  fancy 
To  find  out  the  grief! 
But,  alas  !    no  relief! 
Heigho  !    What  can  be  the  matter  with  Nancy  ? 


With  my  head  on  my  pillow,   I  seek  for  repose ; 
Which  comes  to  the  wretched,  and  softens  their  woes : 
But  sleepless,  though  blameless,  I  sigh  through  the 

night ; 
And  the  day  can't  relieve  me,  though  ever  so  bright  I 

In  vain,  I  perplex  my  poor  fancy,  &c. 

i88 


David  Garrick. 


So  evil  a  Spirit,  that  haunts  a  poor  INIaid, 
By  the  grave  Sons  of  Physic  can  never  be  laid ! 
If  a  Youth,  versed  in  magic,  would  take  me  in  hand; 
I'm  sure  of  a  cure,  if  he  waves  but  his  wand! 
In  vain,   I  perplex  my  poor  fancy,  &c. 


A  young  Oxford  Scholar  knows  well  my  sad  case ; 
For  he  looked  in  my  eyes,  and  read  over  my  face! 
So  learned  he  talked,  that  I   felt  at  my  heart. 
He  must  have  great  skill  in  the  Magical  Art! 
In  vain,   I  perplex  my  poor  fancy,  &c. 


O,  send  for  this  Scholar ;    and  let  him  prescribe ! 
He'll  do  me  more  good  than  the  medical  tribe! 
Then,  the  rose  with  the  lily  again  shall  appear ; 
And    my    heart,   now   so    heavy,    dance  through    the 
whole  year  ! 
No  more  I'll  perplex  my  poor  fancy 
To  find  out  the  g-rief! 
For  he'll  soon  bring  relief! 
Heigho  !    He  knows  what 's  the  matter  with  Nancv  ! 


189 


David  Garrick. 


How  little  do  the  land-men  know 

Of  what  we  sailors  feel, 
When  waves  do  mount,  and  winds  do  blow! 

But  we  have  hearts  of  steel! 
No  danger  can  affright  us! 

No  Enemy  shall  flout  I 
We'll  make  the  Monsieurs  right  us! 

So  toss  the  Can  about! 


Stick  stout  to  Orders,  Messmates!  I 

We'll  plunder,  burn,  and  sink! 
Then,  France !   have  at  your  First-rates ! 

Vox  Britons  never  shrink! 
We'll  rummage  all  we  fancy! 

We'll  bring  them  in  by  scores ; 
And  Moll,  and  Kate,  and  Nancy 

Shall  roll  in  louis  d'ors! 


While  here  at  Deal  we're  lying, 

With  our  noble  Commodore, 
We'll  spend  our  wages  freely,  Boys 

And  then  to  sea  for  more ! 
In  Peace,  we'll  drink  and  sing,  Boys  ! 

In  War,  we'll  never  fly ! 
Here  's  a  Health  to  George  our  King,  Boys! 

And  the  Royal  Family! 
190  


Da 7' id  Garrick. 


SONGS 

IN    CONNECTION    WITH 

THE   SHAKESPEARE   JUBILEE 

AT  Stratford    upon   Avon, 

September    7,    1769. 


WAR  WICKSHIRE. 

Ye  Warwickshire  Lads,  and  ye  Lasses! 
See  what  at  our  Jubilee  passes  ! 
Come,  revel  away !     Rejoice,  and  be  glad ! 
For  the  Lad  of  all  lads,  was  a  Warwickshire   Lad ! 
Warwickshire  Lad  ! 
All  be  glad, 
For  the   Lad  of  all  lads,  was  a  Warwickshire   Lad! 


191 


David  Garrick. 


Be  proud  of  the  charms  of  your  County; 
Where  Nature  has  lavished  her  bounty ! 
Where  much  she  has  given,  and  some  to  be  spared ; 
For  the  Bard  of  all  bards,  was  a  Warwickshire  Bard ! 
Warwickshire  Bard ! 
Never  paired ! 
For  the  Bard  of  all  bards,  was  a  Warwickshire  Bard ! 


Each  Shire  has  its  different  pleasures, 
Each  Shire  has  its  different  treasures  : 
But  to  rare  Warwickshire  all  must  submit ; 
For  the  Wit  of  all  wits,  was  a  Warwickshire  Wit! 
Warwickshire  Wit! 
How  he  writ! 
For  the  Wit  of  all  wits,  was  a  Warwickshire  Wit! 


Old  Ben,  Thomas  Otway,  John  Dryden; 
And  half  a  score  more,  we  take  pride  in ! 
Of  famous  Will  Congreve  we  boast  too  the   skill ; 
But  the  Will  of  all  Wills,  was  a  Warwickshire  Will  ! 
Warwickshire  Will! 
Matchless  still ! 
For  the  Will  of  all  Wills,  was  a  Warwickshire  Will  ! 


192 


David  Garrick. 


Our  Shakespeare  compared  is  to  no  man  ; 

Nor  Frenchman,  nor  Grecian,  nor  Roman ! 

Their  swans  are  all  geese,  to  the  Avon's  sweet  Swan ; 

And  the  Man  of  all  men,  was  a  Warwickshire  Man! 

Warwickshire  Man ! 
Avon's  Swan ! 
And  the  Man  of  all  men.  was  a  Warwickshire  Man  ! 


As  ven'son  is  very  inviting, 
To  steal  it  our  Bard  took  delight  in ! 
To  make  his  friends  merry,  he  never  was  lag ; 
And  the  Wag  of  all  wags,  was  a  Warwickshire  Wag ! 

Warwickshire  Wag ! 
Ever  brag ! 
For  the  Wag  of  all  wags,  was  a  Warwickshire  Wag ! 


There  never  was  seen  such  a  creature  ! 
Of  all  she  was  worth,  he  robbed  Nature  ! 
He  took  all  her  smiles,  and  he  took  all  her  grief; 
And  the  Thief  of  all  thieves,  was  a  Warwickshire  Thief! 

Warwickshire   Thief! 
He  's  the  chief! 
For  the  Thief  of  all  thieves,  was  a  Warwickshire  Thief! 


BRIT.  ANTH. 


'93 


David  Garrick. 


Sisters  of  the  tuneful  strain ! 
Attend  your  parent's  jocund  Train ! 
'Tis  Fancy  calls  you!     Follow  me, 
To  celebrate  the  Jubilee! 

On  Avon's  banks,  where  Shakespeare's  bust 
Points  out,  and  guards  his  sleeping  dust, 
The  Sons  of  Scenic  Mirth  decree 
To  celebrate  this  Jubilee! 

By  Garrick  led,  the  grateful  band 
Haste  to  their  Poet's  native  land, 
With  rites  of  sportive  revelry 
To  celebrate  this  Jubilee! 

Come,  Daughters,  then  !    and  with  you  bring 
The  vocal  reed,  and  sprightly  string, 
Wit,  and  Joke,  and  Repartee, 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee! 

Come,  Daughters !    come ;    and  bring  with  you 
Th'  aerial  Sprite,  and  Fairy  Crew, 
And  the  sister  Graces  three. 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee ! 

Hang  around  the  sculptured  tomb 
The  broidered  vest,  the  nodding  plume. 
And  mask  of  comic  glee. 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee! 
194 


David  Garyick, 


From   Birnam  Wood,  and  Bosworth's  Field, 
Bring  the  standard,  bring  the  shield, 
With  drums,  and  martial   symphony. 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee! 

In  mournful  Numbers  now  relate 
Poor  Desdemona's  hapless  fate, 
With  frantic  deeds  of  Jealousy, 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee ! 

Nor  be  Windsor's  Wives  forgot. 
With  their  harmless  merry  plot, 
The  whit'ning  mead,  the  haunted  tree, 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee! 

Now,  in  jocund  strains,  recite 
The  revels  of  the  braggart  Knight! 
Fat  Knight!    and  Ancient  Pistol  he! 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee! 

But  see,  in  crowds,  the  gay,  the  fair, 
To  the  splendid  Scene  repair! 
A  Scene  as  fine  as  fine  can  be, 
To  celebrate  our  Jubilee! 

Yet  Colin  bring,  and  Rosalind  ; 
Each  Shepherd  true,  and  Damsel  kind  ! 
For  well  with  ours,  their  sports  agree, 
To  crown  the  festive  Jubilee! 

o   1  195 


I 


David  Garrick. 


Thou  soft-flowing  Avon,  by  thy  silver  stream, 

Of  things  more  than  mortal  sweet  Shakespeare  would 

dream ! 
The  Fairies,  by  moonlight,  dance  round  his  green  bed; 
For  hallowed  the  turf  is,  which  pillowed  his  head  ! 


The  love-stricken  Maiden,  the  soft-sighing  Swain, 
Here  rove  without  danger,  and  sigh  without  pain  ! 
The  sweet  bud  of  Beauty,  no  blight  shall  here  dread ; 
For  hallowed  the  turf  is,  which  pillowed  his  head! 


Here,  Youth  shall  be  famed  for  their  love  and  their 

truth ; 
And  cheerful  Old  Age  feel  the  spirit  of  Youth ! 
For  the  raptures  of  Fancy,  here   Poets  shall  tread ; 
For  hallowed  the  turf  is,  that  pillowed  his  head ! 


Flow  on,  silver  Avon !    in  Song  ever  flow ! 
Be  the  swans  on  thy  bosom  still  whiter  than  snow! 
Ever  full  be  thy  stream,  like  his  fame  be  it  spread ; 
And  the  turf  ever  hallowed,  which  pillowed  his  head ! 
196 


Anonymous. 


THE  LASS  OF  THE  MILL. 

Who  has  e'er  been  at  Baldock,  must  needs  know  the 

Mill, 
At  the  sign  of  the  Horse,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ; 
Where  the  Grave  and  the  Gay,  the  Clown  and  the  Beau. 
Without  all  distinction,  promiscuously  go. 

The  Man  of  the  Mill  has  a  daughter  so  fair, 
With  so  pleasing  a  shape,  and  so  winning  an  Air, 
That  once,  on  the  ever-green  bank  as   I   stood, 
I'd  swore,  she  was  Venus  just  sprung  from  the  flood. 

But,  looking  again,   I   perceive  my  mistake ! 

For  Venus,  though  fair,  has  the  look  of  a  Rake; 

While  nothing  but  Virtue  and  Modesty  fill 

The  more  beautiful  looks  of  the  Lass  of  the  Mill. 

Prometheus  stole  fire,  as  the  Poets  all  say, 
To  enliven  that  mass  which  he  modelled  of  clay. 
Mad   PoLLV  been  with  him,  the  beams  of  her  eyes 
Had  saved  him  the  trouble  of  robbing  the  skies! 

Since  first   I   beheld  this  dear  Lass  of  the  Mill, 
I   can  ne'er  be  at  quiet :    but,  do  what   I   will ! 
All  tlie  day  and  all  night   I   sigh,  and  think  siill, 
I   shall  die,  if  I   have  not  this  Lass  of  the  Mill! 

197 


Anonymous. 


COLIN  AND  DOLLY. 

The  morning  cloud  was  tinged  with  gold, 
When  Colin  went  to  view  his  fold ; 
And,  as  he  whistled  o'er  the  plain, 
Young  Dolly  met  the  perjured  Swain. 
Anger  and  Love  were  in  her  eye, 
Her  tender  breast  heaved  with  a  sigh ; 
But  when  her  grief  she  came  to  show, 
He  cried,  '  I  cannot  hear  thee  now ! ' 

In  moving  words,  she  told  a  tale 
That  might  o'er  any  heart  prevail. 
Asked,  '  Why  he  had  forsook  her  cot  ? 
And  was  poor  Dolly  quite  forgot  ? 
If  so,'  tears  trembling  in  her  eye, 
She  said,  *  she'd  sit  her  down,  and  die ! ' 
'  Do  so ! '  says  Colin,  '  and  I  vow, 
My  Dear!    I  cannot  hear  thee  now!* 

Resentment  kindling  o'er  her  cheek. 
Says  she,  'Another  Love  I'll  seek! 
Damon  will  prize  these  slighted  charms; 
And  kindly  take  them  to  his  arms ! ' 
The  Swain,  whom  Honour  could  not  move, 
By  Jealousy  was  waked  to  Love! 
Says  he,  '  Forgive !     See  yonder  mow, 
Step  there!    I'll  stay  to  hear  thee  now!' 
ig8  ■ 


JoJni   Citniiiugliam. 


MAY  EVE, 


OR 


KATE  OF  ABERDEEN. 

The  silver  moon's  enamoured  beam 

Steals  softly  through  the  night, 
To  wanton  with  the  winding  stream, 

And  kiss  reflected  light. 
To  beds  of  State  go,  balmy  Sleep ! 

('Tis  where  you've  seldom  been!) 
May's  Vigil  while  the  Shepherds   keep 

With  Kate  of  Aberdeen. 


Upon  the  Green,  the  Virgins  wait, 

In  rosy  chaplets  gay, 
Till  Morn  unbar  her  golden  gate, 

And  give  the  promised   May. 
Methinks,   I   hear  the   Maids  declare 

The  promised  May,  when  seen, 
Not  half  so  fragrant,  half  so  fair, 

As  Kate  of  Aberdeen  I 

199 


yohn  Cunningham. 


Strike  up  the  tabor's  boldest  notes ! 

We'll  rouse  the  nodding  grove ! 
The  nested  birds  shall  raise  their  throats, 

And  hail  the  Maid  I  love! 
And  see !    the  matin  lark  mistakes  ! 

He  quits  the  tufted  Green! 
Fond  bird  I   'tis  not  the  morning  breaks! 

'Tis  Kate  of  Aberdeen ! 


Now  lightsome  o'er  the  level  mead, 

Where  midnight  Fairies  rove, 
Like  them,  the  jocund  dance  we'll  lead ; 

Or  tune  the  reed  to  Love ! 
For  see,  the  rosy  May  draws  nigh ! 

She  claims  a  Virgin  Queen ! 
And  hark !    the  happy  Shepherds  cry, 

'  'Tis  Kate  of  Aberdeen  ! ' 


HOLIDAY  GOWN. 

In  holiday  gown,  and  my  new-fangled  hat, 

Last  Monday,  I  tripped  to  the  Fair. 
I  held  up  my  head;    and  I'll  tell  you,  for  what! 

Brisk  Roger,  I  guessed,  would  be  there! 
He  woos  me  to  marry,  whenever  we  meet; 

There   s  honey,  sure,  dwells  on  his  tongue ! 
He  hugs  me  so  close,  and  he  kisses  so  sweet; 

I'd  wed,  if  I  were  not  too  young! 
200 


.! 


yoJiu   Ciuuii}igJia)}i. 


Fond  Sue,   I'll  assure  you  !   laid  hold  on  the  boy 

(The  vixen  would  fain  be  his  Bride !) ; 
Some  token  she  claimed,  either  ribbon  or  toy. 

And  swore,  that  she'd  not  be  denied ! 
A  top-knot  he  bought  her,  and  garters,  of  green ; 

Pert  Susan  was  cruelly  stung ! 
I   hate  her  so  much  that,  to  kill  her  with  spleen, 

I'd  wed,  if  I   were  not  too  young ! 


He  whispered  such  soft  pretty  things  in  mine  ear! 

He  flattered!    he  promised,  and  swore! 
Such  trinkets  he  gave  me,  such  laces  and  gear ; 

That,  trust  me  !    my  pockets  ran  o'er ! 
Some  Ballads  he  bought  me,  the  best  he  could  find ; 

And  sweetly  their  burthen  he  sung! 
Good  faith  I   he  's  so  handsome,  so  witty,  and  kind  ; 

I'd  wed,  if  I  were  not  too  young! 


The  sun  was  just  setting,  'twas  time  to  retire 

(Our  cottage  was  distant  a  mile !)  ; 
I   rose  to  be  gone.     Roger  bowed  like  a  Squire, 

And  handed  me  over  the  stile.  [^V^- 

His  arms  he  threw  round  mc.      Love  laughed   in  his 

He  led  me  the  meadows  among. 
There  pressed  me  so  close,   I   agreed,  with  a  sigh, 

To  wed — for  I   was  not  too  young! 


yohn  Ctmningham. 


DAY. 


A  Pastoral, 


Carpe  diem. — Horace. 


MORNING. 

In  the  barn,  the  tenant  Cock, 
Close  to  Partlet  perched  on  high, 

Briskly  crows  (the  Shepherd's  clock!), 
Jocund  that  the  Morning  's  nigh. 

Swiftly  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Shadows,  nursed  by  Night,  retire  ; 

And  the  peeping  sunbeam  now 
Paints  with  gold  the  village  spire. 

Philomel  forsakes  the  thorn, 

Plaintive,  where  she  prates  at  night; 
And  the  Lark,  to  meet  the  Morn, 

Soars  beyond  the  Shepherd's  sight. 
202 


yohn  CnnniugJiani. 


From  the  low-roofed  cottage  ridge, 
See  the  chatt'ring  Swallow  spring; 

Darting  through  the  one-arched  bridge, 
Quick  she  dips  her  dappled  wing. 

Now  the  pine-tree's  waving  top 
Gently  greets  the  morning  gale. 

K idlings  now  begin  to  crop 
Daisies  in  the  dewy  dale. 

From  the  balmy  sweets  uncloyed, 
Restless  till  her  task  be  done. 

Now  the  busy  bee   s  employed 
Sipping  dew  before  the  sun. 

Trickling  through  the  creviced  rock, 
Where  the  limpid  stream  distils, 

Sweet  refreshment  waits  the  flock. 
When  'tis  sun-drove  from  the  hills. 

Colin,  for  the  promised  corn, 
Ere  the  harvest  hopes  are  ripe. 

Anxious,  hears  the  huntsman's  horn, 
Boldly  sounding,  drown  his  pipe. 

Sweet !    O,  sweet  the  warbling  throng 
C)n  the  white  emblossomed  spray! 

Nature's  universal  Song 
Echoes  to  the  rising  Day. 

203 


yohn  Ctmningham. 


NOON 

Fervid  on  the  glitt'ring  flood, 

Now  the  noontide  radiance  glows. 

Drooping  o'er  its  infant  bud, 
Not  a  dewdrop  's  left  the  rose! 

By  the  brook,  the  Shepherd  dines; 

From  the  fierce  meridian  heat 
Sheltered  by  the  branching  pines 

Pendant  o'er  his  grassy  seat. 

Now  the  flock  forsakes  the  glade, 
Where  unchecked  the  sunbeams  fall, 

Sure  to  find  a  pleasing  shade 
By  the  ivied  Abbey  wall. 

Echo,  in  her  airy  round 

O'er  the  river,  rock,  and  hill, 

Cannot  catch  a  single  sound, 
Save  the  clack  of  yonder  Mill. 

Cattle  court  the  zephyrs  bland. 

Where  the  streamlet  wanders  cool ; 

Or,  with  languid  silence,  stand 
Midway  in  the  marshy  pool. 

But  from  mountain,  dell,  or  stream, 
Not  a  flutt'ring  zephyr  springs  ! 

Fearful  lest  the  noontide  beam 
Scorch  its  soft,  its  silken,  wings. 

204 


yoJni  CuuuiiighaDi. 


Not  a  leaf  has  leave  to  stir ! 

Nature  's  lulled,  serene,  and  still. 
Quiet  e'en  the  Shepherd's  cur, 

Sleeping  on  the  heath-clad  hill. 

Languid  is  the  landscape  round, 
Till  the  fresh  descending  shower, 

Grateful  to  the  thirsty  ground, 
Raises  ev'ry  fainting  flower. 

Now,  the  hill,  the  hedge,  is  green ! 

Now,  the  warblers'  throats,  in  tune ! 
Blithesome  is  the  verdant  scene, 

Brightened  by  the  beams  of  Noon. 


E  VENING. 

O'er  the  heath,  the  heifer  strays 
Free — the  furrowed  task  is  done. 

Now,  the  village  windows  blaze. 
Burnished  by  the  setting  sun. 

Now,  he  hides  behind  the  hill, 

Sinking  from  a  golden  sky. 
Can  the  pencil's  mimic  skill 

Copy  the  refulgent  dye  ? 

Trudging  as  the  plowmen  go, 
To  the  smoking  hamlet  bound, 

Giant-like  their  shadows  grow, 

Lengthened  o'er  the  level  ground. 

205 


yohn  Cunningham. 


Where  the  rising  forest  spreads, 
Shelter  for  the  lordly  dome, 

To  their  high-built  airy  beds, 
See  the  Rooks  returning  home ! 

As  the  Lark,  with  varied  tune, 
Carols  to  the  Evening  loud, 

Mark  the  mild  resplendent  Moon 
Breaking  through  a  parted  cloud! 

Now  the  hermit  Howlet  peeps 
From  the  barn,  or  twisted  brake; 

And  the  blue  mist  slowly  creeps, 
Curling  on  the  silver  Lake. 

As  the  Trout,  in  speckled  pride. 
Playful  from  its  bosom  springs. 

To  the  banks  a  ruffled  tide 
Verges  in  successive  rings. 

Tripping  through  the  silken  grass, 
O'er  the  path-divided  Dale, 

Mark  the  rose-complexioned  Lass, 
With  her  well-poised  milking  pail ! 

Linnets  with  unnumbered  notes, 

And  the  Cuckoo  bird  with  two. 
Tuning  sweet  their  mellow  throats. 
Bid  the  setting  sun.  Adieu! 
206  


yoJut  Cunniiighani. 


CORY  DON  AND  PHILLIS. 


Her  sheep  had  in  clusters  crept  close  by  the  grove, 

To  hide  from  the  rigours  of  day ; 
And   Phillis  herself,  in  a  woodbine  alcove, 

Among  the  fresh  violets  lay. 
A  youngling  (it  seems !)  had  been  stole  from  its  dam 

('Twixt  Cupid  and  Hymen  a  plot. 
That  CoRYDON  might,  as  he  searched  for  his  lamb. 

Arrive  at  this  critical  spot !). 


As  through  the  gay  hedge  for  his  lambkin  he  peeps. 

He  saw  the  sweet   Nymph  with  surprise. 
'  Ye  Gods !    if  so  killing,'  he  cried,  '  when  she  sleeps ; 

I'm  lost,  when  she  opens  her  eyes! 
To  tarry  much  longer  would  hazard  my  heart ; 

I'll  onwards,  my  lambkin  to  trace!' 
Hut,   in   vain,   honest  Corydon  strove  to  depart ; 

For  Love  had  him   nailed  to  the  place. 

207 


yohn  Cunnifigham. 


'Hush!     hushed   be   these   birds!     What   a   bawling 
they  keep! ' 

He  cried,  '  You're  too  loud  on  the  spray  I 
Don't  you  see,  foolish  Lark !  that  the  Charmer 's  asleep ! 

You'll  wake  her,  as  sure  as  'tis  day! 
How  dare  that  fond  Butterfly  touch  the  sweet  Maid ! 

Her  cheek  he  mistakes  for  the  rose ! 
I'd  pat  him  to  death,  if  I  were  not  afraid, 

My  boldness  would  break  her  repose ! ' 


Young  Phillis  looked  up,  with  a  languishing  smile. 

'  Kind  Shepherd  ! '    she  said,  '  you  mistake ! 
I  laid  myself  down,  just  to  rest  me  awhile ; 

But,  trust  me !    have  still  been  awake ! ' 
The  Shepherd  took  courage,  advanced  with  a  bow, 

He  placed  himself  down  by  her  side ; 
And  managed  the  matter,   I  cannot  tell  how! 

But  yesterday  made  her  his  Bride. 


208 


Anonynwits. 


When  first,  by  fond  Damon,  Flavella  was  seen, 
He  slightly  regarded  her  Air  and  her  mien. 
The  charms  of  her  mind  he  alone  would  commend, 
Not  warmed  as  a  Lover,  but  cool   as  a  Friend. 
From  Friendship,  not  Passion,  his  raptures  did  move  ; 
And  the  Swain  bragged  his  heart  was  a  stranger  to  Love! 


New  charms  he  discovered,  as  more  she  was  known. 
Her  face  grew  a  wonder!  Her  taste  was  his  own! 
Her  manners  were  gentle!  Her  sense  was  refined! 
And  O,  what  dear  virtues  beamed  forth  in  her  mind ! 
Yet  still  for  the  sanction  of  Friendship  he  strove ; 
Till  a  sigh  gave  the  omen,  and  shewed  it  was  Love ! 

Now,  proud  to  be  conquered,  he  sighs  for  the  Fair ; 
Grows  dull  to  all  pleasure,  but  being  with  her! 
He  's  mute;  while  his  heart-strings  are  ready  to  break  ! 
The  fear  of  offending  forbids  him  to  speak ! 
And  wanders  a  willing  example  to  prove 
That  Friendship  with  Woman  is  Sister  to   Love ! 

A  Lover,  thus  conquered,  can  ne'er  give  offence  I 
Not  a  dupe  to  her  smiles,  but  a  slave  to  her  sense. 
His  Passion,  nor  wrinkles,  nor  age,  can  allay; 
Since  founded  on  that  which  can  never  decay ! 
And  Time,  that  can  Beauty's  short  empire  remove, 
Increasing  her  reason,  increases  his  love! 

SUIT.  ANTH.   IZ.  P  209 


AnonyrnoMS, 


CROSS  PURPOSES. 

Tom  loves  Mary  passing  well ; 

But  Mary,  she  loves  Harry  : 
Whilst  Harry  sighs  for  bonny  Bell 

And  finds  his  love  miscarry. 
For  bonny  Bell  for  Thomas  burns, 

Though  Mary  slights  his  Passion : 
So  strangely  freakish  are  the  turns 

Of  human  inclination ! 

As  much  as  Mary,  Thomas  grieves; 

Proud  Hal  despises  Mary  ! 
And  all  the  flouts  that  Bell  receives 

From  Tom,  she  vents  on  Harry  ! 
Thus  all,  by  turns,  are  wooed  and  woo. 

No  turtles  can  be  truer! 
Each  loves  the  object  they  pursue; 

But  hates  the  kind  pursuer! 

Moll  gave  Hal  a  wreath  of  flowers; 

Which  he,  in  am'rous  folly, 
Consigned  to  Bell  :  and,  in  few  hours, 

It  came  again  to  Molly. 
If  one  of  all  the  four  has  frowned, 

You  ne'er  saw  people  grummer! 
If  one  has  smiled,  it  catches  round ; 

And  all  are  in  good  humour. 

2IO 


Anonymous. 


Then,   Lovers !   hence  this  lesson  learn, 

Throughout  the  British  nation, 
How  much  'tis  ev'ry  one's  concern 

To  smile  a  Reformation ; 
And  still,  through  life,  this  rule  pursue, 

Whatever  objects  strike  ye. 
Be  kind  to  them  that  fancy  you ; 

That  those  you  love  7nay  like  ye  I 


THE  DESPAIRING  LOVER. 

'  Why,  Delia  !  ever  when   I  gaze, 
Appears  in  frowns  that  lovely  face  ? 
Why  are  those  smiles  to  me  denied, 
That  gladden  ev'ry  heart  beside  ? 
In  vain,  your  eyes  my  flame  reprove! 
I   may  despair ;  but  still  must  love  ! ' 


From  sweetest  Airs  I   sought  relief, 
And  hoped  from  Music  cure  for  grief. 
Fool  that  I   was!     The  thrilling  sound 
Served  only  to  increase  the  wound ; 
And  while  for  rest   I   fondly  strove, 
Forgot  that  Music  strengthened   Love ! 

P    2  2.11 


Anonymous. 


To  pleasures  of  a  diff'rent  kind, 
Soon,  undeceived,  I  bent  my  mind ! 
I  sought  the  fair,  the  gay,  the  young; 
And  dressed,  and  played,  and  laughed,  and  sung 
Vain  joys !   too  weak  my  heart  to  move ! 
Ah !   what  were  you  to  her  I  love  I 


When,  drooping  on  the  bed  of  pain, 
I  looked  on  ev'ry  hope  as  vain ; 
When  pitying  friends  stood  weeping  by, 
And  Death's  pale  shade  seemed  hov'ring  nigh ; 
No  terror  could  my  flame  remove, 
Or  steal  a  thought  from  her  I  love! 


'Absence  may  bring  relief!'   I  cried; 
And  straight  the  dreadful  hope  I  tried! 
Alas !  in  vain,  was  ev'ry  care ! 
Still  in  my  heart  I  bore  my  Fair! 
Ah!  whither,  whithef  shall  I  rove 
To  shun  Despair,  or  fly  from  Love? 


2ia 


y.  Ilcnyictta  Pye. 


Life  has  no  real  bliss  in  store ! 

Possessing  much,  we  wish  for  more ! 

With  health,  with  friends,  with  fortune,  blest; 

Why  sighs  my  anxious  soul  for  rest  ? 

When  flatt'rers  court  my  list'ning  ear, 
Though  pleased  I  study  to  appear, 
They  only  my  repose  molest ; 
And  miike  me  seek  the  more  for  rest. 

But  why,  whenever  Damon  s  near. 
This  anxious  hope  ?    this  anxious  fear  ? 
'Tis  only  friendship  fills  my  breast ; 
And  friendship  ne'er  was  foe  to  rest! 

To  that,  his  wishes  seemed  to  tend ; 
He  only  asked  the  name  of  Friend! 
But  though,  by  looks,  his  love  I  guest ; 
Could  looks  alone  have  hurt  my  rest  ? 

He  ne'er  has  sought  a  studied  strain  ! 
In  broken  words,  he  spoke  his  pain  ! 
Alas !    so  much  those  words  exprest ; 
I   fear  'tis  they,  have  stole  my  rest ! 

But  if,  superior  to  disguise. 

His  soul  is  pictured  in  his  eyes; 

Of  Damon's  love,  when  (|uite  posscst, 

I  soon  shall  find  my  wonted  rest! 

213 


Mrs.  —  Greville. 


PRAYER  FOR  INDIFFERENCE. 

'Oft  I've  implored  the  Gods  in  vain, 
And  prayed  till  I've  been  weary! 

For  once,   I'll  seek  my  wish  to  gain 
Of  Oberon  the  Fairy! 

'Sweet  airy  Being!   wanton  Spright! 

Who  liv'st  in  woods  unseen ; 
And  oft,  by  Cynthia's  silver  light, 

Tripp'st  gaily  o'er  the  green! 

*  If  e'er  thy  pitying  heart  was  moved, 

As  ancient  stories  tell, 
And  for  th'  Athenian  Maid  ^  who  loved. 
Thou  sought'st  a  wondrous  spell; 

*  O,  deign  once  more  t'  exert  thy  power ! 

Haply,  some  herb,  or  tree, 
Sov'reign  as  juice  from  western  flower  ^ 
Conceals  a  balm  for  me  ! 

*  See  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream. 
2T4 


Mys.  —  Gycville. 

'  I  ask  no  kind  return  in  Love ! 

No  tempting  charm  to  please ! 
Far  from  the  heart  such  ijifts  remove. 

That  sighs  for  peace  and  ease! 

'  Nor  ease,  nor  peace,  that  heart  can  know, 

That,  hke  the  needle  true, 
Turns  at  the  touch  of  Joy,  or  Woe; 

But,  turning,  trembles  too! 

'  Far  as  distress  the  soul  can  wound, 

'Tis  pain  in  each  degree ! 
'Tis  bliss  but  to  a  certain  bound ; 

Beyond — is  agony ! 

'  Then  take  this  treach'rous  Sense  of  mine ! 

Which  dooms  me  still  to  smart; 
Which  pleasure  can  to  pain  refine, 

To  pain  new  pangs  impart ! 

'  O,  haste  to  shed  the  sov'reign  balm ! 

My  shattered  nerves  new-string ! 
And  for  my  guest,  serenely  calm. 

The  Nymph,  Indifference,  bring! 

'  At  her  approach,  see  Hope,  see  Fear, 

See  Expectation,  fly ! 
And  Disappointment,  in  the  rear. 

That  blasts  the  purposed  joy! 

ai5 


Mrs.  —  Greville. 


'  The  tears,  which  Pity  taught  to  flow, 

My  eyes  shall  then  disown ! 
The  heart  that  throbbed  at  others'  woe, 

Shall  then  scarce  feel  its  own ! 

*  The  wounds  which  now  each  moment  bleed, 

Each  moment  then  shall  close! 
And  tranquil  days  shall  still  succeed 
To  nights  of  sweet  repose! 

*0,  Fairy  Elf!   but  grant  me  this! 

This  one  kind  comfort  send! 
And  so  may  never-fading  bliss, 

Thy  flowery  paths  attend ! 

*  So  may  the  glow-worm's  glimm'ring  light, 

Thy  tiny  footsteps  lead 
To  some  new  region  of  delight, 
Unknown  to  mortal  tread! 

*  And  be  thy  acorn  goblet  filled 

With  heaven's  ambrosial  dew, 
From  sweetest,  freshest  flowers  distilled, 
That  shed  fresh  sweets  for  you ! 

'And  what  of  life  remains  for  me, 

I'll  pass  in  sober  ease ! 
Half-pleased,  contented  will  I  be! 

Content,  but  half  to  please!' 


216 


Isabella  Hoiuard,  Countess  of  Carlisle. 


THE  FAIRY'S  ANSWER 

TO  MRS.    GREVILLE. 

Without  preamble,  to  my  friend, 
These  hasty  hnes  I'm  bid  to  send; 

Or  give,  if  I  am  able. 
I   dare  not  hesitate  to  say, 
Though   I  have  trembled  all  the  day, 

It  looks  so  like  a  Fable! 

Last  night's  adventure  is  my  theme : 
And  should  it  strike  you  as  a  dream ; 

Yet  soon  its  high  import 
Must  make  you  own  the  matter  such, 
So  delicate,  it  were  too  much 

To  be  composed  in  sport ! 

The  moon  did  shine  serenely  bright. 
And  every  star  did  deck  the  night, 

While  Zephyr  fanned  the  trees. 
No  more  assailed  my  mind's  repose, 
Save  that  yon  stream,  which  murmuring  flows. 

Did  echo  to  the  breeze. 

Enwra[)pcd  in  solemn   thoughts,   I   sate, 

Revolving  o'er  tlie  turns  of  Fate; 

Yet  void  of  hope,  or  fear  : 

217 


Isabella  Howard^  Countess  of  Carlisle. 


When  lo !    behold,  an  airy  throng, 
With  hghtest  steps,  and  jocund  Song, 
Surprised  my  eye  and  ear. 

A  Form,  superior  to  the  rest, 
His  little  voice  to  me  addrest, 

And  gently  thus  began. 
*  I've  heard  strange  things  from  one  of  you ! 
Pray  tell  me,  if  you  think  'tis  true  ? 

Explain  it,  if  you  can! 

'Such  incense  has  perfumed  my  throne! 
Such  eloquence  my  heart  has  won! 

I  think  I  guess  the  hand! 
I  know  her  wit  and  beauty  too; 
But  why  she  sends  a  prayer  so  new, 

I  cannot  understand! 

'  To  light  some  flames,  and  some  revive ; 
To  keep  some  others  just  alive; 

Full  oft  I  am  implored! 
But,  with  peculiar  power  to  please, 
To  supplicate  for  nought  but  Ease!  \ 

'Tis  odd,  upon  my  word! 

'Tell  her.  With  fruitless  care  I've  sought; 
And  (though  my  realms,  with  wonders  fraught, 

In  remedies  abound) 
No  grain  of  cold  Indifference 
Was  ever  yet  allied  to  Sense, 

In  all  my  fairy  round! 
218  i 


Isabella  Hoicuird,   Countess  of  Car/isle. 

'  The  regions  of  the  sky  I'd  trace, 
I'd  ransack  every  earthly  place, 

Each  leaf,  each  herb,  each  flower, 
To  mitigate  the  pangs  of  Fear  ; 
Dispel  the  clouds  of  black  Despair; 

Or  lull  the  restless  hour ! 

*  I  would  be  generous,  as  I'm  just ; 
But  I  obey,  as  others  must. 

Those  laws  which  Fate  has  made  1 
My  tiny  Kingdom,  how  defend ; 
And  what  might  be  the  horrid  end, 

Should  Man  my  State  invade  ? 

'  Twould  put  your  mind  into  a  rage; 
And  such  unequal  war  to  wage 

Suits  not  my  regal  duty ! 
I  dare  not  change  a  first  decree. 
She  's  doomed  to  please ;    nor  can  be  free  1 

Such  is  the  lot  of  Beauty ! ' 

This  said,  he  darted  o'er  the  plain ; 
And  after  followed  all  his  Train. 

No  glimpse  of  him   I   find. 
But,  sure  I  am,  the  little  Spright, 
These  words,  before  he  took  his  flight, 

Imprinted  on  my  mind. 


ai9 


George  Canning  the  Elder. 


JEU  D' ESPRIT. 

A  Templar  (who  loves  you,  dear  Kitty!  full  well! 
Who  loves  you  much  more  than  in  words  he  can  tell  ; 

Though  of  words  he,  by  no  means,  is  thrifty!) 
Has  often  been  tempted  by  deeds  to  approve 
The  energy,  ardour,  and  strength  of  his  love ; 

But  his  reasons  against  it  are  fifty. 


To  enumerate  each,  would  but  take  up  your  time; 
Which,  when  moments  are  precious,  is  surely  a  crime ! 

Hark!    you  say,  'I  could  never  forgive  't  you!' 
Each  reason,  besides,  in  itself  is  but  small; 
The  hardship  consists  in  uniting  them  all 

Till  they  mount  to  the  total  of  fifty. 


How  often,  when  night's  happy  hours  I  employ 
In  dreams  of  my  Kitty,  of  rapture  and  joy, 

To  such  heights  as  oft  Fancy  will  lift  you; 
In  the  midst  of  my  bliss,  do  I  wake  with  a  curse; 
And,  frantic  with  rage,  cry  aloud  to  my  purse, 

'Ah!    traitor!   why  hold'st  thou  not  fifty?' 
220 


George  Canning  fJic  Elder. 


But  let  not  your  fiftyless  Lover  despair; 
Or  'tis  fifty  to  one  that  he  dies  of  his  care  ! 

Had  he  fifty  times  more,  he  would  give    t  you ! 
O,  wouldst  thou,  sweet  Kitty  !    once   yield   him   thy 

charms, 
He'd  convince  you  (as  panting  you  died  in  his  arms) 

Five-and-twenty  's  more  precious  than  fifty ! 


Let  him  hope  then,  that  quickly  a  billet  you'll  send, 
Appointing  a  time  and  a  place  to  attend ; 

On  Love's  wings,  he'll  fly  away  swift  t'  you ! 
Let  your  lily-white  hand,   Miss  !    direct  to  G.  C, 
And  your  dwarf  drop  the  note  at  the  Grecian  for  me; 

I'll  be  with  you  ere  you  can  count  fifty ! 


221 


Alexander  Ross. 


WHAT  AILS   THE  LASSES  AT  ME? 

I  AM  a  Batchelor  winsome, 

A  Farmer  by  rank  and  degree; 
An'  few  I  see  gang  out  mair  handsome 

To  Kirk,  or  to  Market,  than  me! 
I  have  outsight,  and  insight,  and  credit; 

And  from  any  eelist  I'm  free! 
I'm  well  enough  boarded  and  bedded ; 

And  what  ails  the  Lasses  at  me  ? 

My  boughts  of  good  store  are  no  scanty, 

My  byres  are  well  stocked  wi'  ky; 
Of  meal  i'  my  girnels  is  plenty, 

An   twa  or  three  easments  forby; 
An'  horse  to  ride  out,  when  they're  weary; 

An'  cock  with  the  best  they  can  see; 
An'  then  be  ca'd  'dawty!'  and  'deary!': 

I  fairly,  what  ails  them  at  me  ? 

Behind  backs,  afore  fouk,  I've  woo'd  them; 

An'  a'  the  gates  o't  that  I  ken  I 
An'  when  they  leugh  o'  me,  I  trow'd  them, 

An'  thought  I  had  won  ;    but  what  then ! 
When  I  speak  of  matters,  they  grumble, 

Nor  are  condescending  and  free ; 
But  at  my  Proposals  ay  stumble! 

I  wonder,  what  ails  them  at  me  ? 

222 


Alexander  Ross. 


I've  try'd  them,  baith  Highland  an'  Lowland, 

Where  I  a  good  bargain  cud  see  ; 
But  nane  o'  them  fand   I  \vad  fall  in, 

Or  sa)-,  they  wad  buckle  wi'  me ! 
With  jooks,  an'  wi'  scraps,   I've  addressed  them 

Been  with  them  baith  modest  and  free! 
But  whatever  way  I  caress'd  them  ; 

There  's  something  still  ails  them  at  me! 


O,  if  I  ken'd  how  but  to  gain  them, 

How  fond  of  the  knack  wad  I  be! 
Or  what  an  address  could  obtain  them, 

It  should  be  twice  welcome  to  me  ! 
If  kissing  an'  clapping  wad  please  them, 

That  trade  I   shuld  drive  till  I  die! 
But  however  I  study  to  ease  them, 

They've  still  an  exception  at  me ! 


There  's  wratacks,  an'  cripples,  an'  cranshaks, 

An'  a'  the  wandoghts  that  I  ken, 
No  sooner  they  speak  to  the  Wenches, 

But  they  are  ta'en  far  enough  ben. 
But  when   I   speak  to  them,  that  's  stately, 

I   find  them  ay  ta'en  with  the  gee  ; 
An'  get  the  denial  right  flatly  ! 

What,  think  yc !    can  ail   thcin  at  me  ? 

223 


Alexander  Ross. 


I  have  yet  but  ae  offer  to  make  them, 

If  they  wad  but  hearken  to  me ! 
And  that  is,  I'm  wilHng  to  tak  them ; 

If  they,  their  consent  wad  but  gee ! 
Let  her  that  's  content,  write  a  Billet, 

An    get  it  transmitted  to  me; 
I  hereby  engage  to  fulfil  it, 

Tho'  cripple,  tho'  blind,  she  sud  be ! 


BILLET  BY  JEANY  GRADDEN. 

Dear  Batchelour!    I've  read  your  Billet! 

Your  strait  an'  your  hardships  I  see ! 
An    tell  you,  It  shall  be  fulfilled ; 

Tho'  it  were  by  none  other  but  me ! 
These  forty  years  I've  been  neglected  ; 

An    nane  has  had  pity  on  me ! 
Such  offers  should  not  be  rejected, 

Whoever  the  offerer  be ! 

For  beauty,  I  lay  no  claim  to  it ; 

Or,  may  be,  I  had  been  away! 
Tho'  tocher,  or  kindred,  could  do  it; 

I  have  no  pretensions  to  they  I 
The  most  I  can  say,  I'm  a  Woman ; 

An'  that  I  a  Wife  want  to  be! 
An'  I'll  tak  exception  at  no  man, 

That  's  willing  to  tak  nane  at  me  ! 
224 


Alexander  Ross. 


And  now,   I   think   I   may  be  cocky, 

Since  Fortune  has  smurtl'd  on  me  ! 
I'm  Jenny;   an'  ye  shall  be  Jockie! 

'Tis  right  we  together  sud  be ! 
For  nane  of  us  cud  find  a  marrow, 

So  sadly  forfairn  were  we ! 
Fouk  sud  no  at  anything  tarrow, 

Whose  chance  looked  naething  to  be! 


On  Tuesday,  speer  for  Jeanv  Gradden, 

When  I   i'  my  pens  ween  to  be, 
Just  at  the  Sign  of  the  Old  Maiden  ; 

Where  ye  shall  be  sure  to  meet  me. 
Bring  with  you  the   Priest  for  the  Wedding, 

That  a'  things  just  ended  may  be ! 
An'  we'll  close  the  whole  with  the  bedding ! 

An'  wha'll  be  sae  merry  as  we  ? 


A  cripple  I'm  not,  ye  forsta  me! 

Tho'  lame  of  the  hand  that  I  be; 
Nor  blind  is  there  reason  to  ca'  me, 

Altho'  I  see  but  with  ae  eye  I 
But   I'm  just  the  chap  that  you  wanted! 

So  tightly  our  state  doth  agree. 
For  nane  wad  hae  you,  ye  have  granted  ; 

As  few,   I   confess,  wad  hae  me  I 


FIRIT.  AfTTH.  IX.  Q  225 


yohn  JVest,  Earl  De  la  IVarr. 


FAIR  HEBE. 


Fair  Hebe  I  left,  with  a  cautious  design 
To  escape  from  her  charms,  and  to  drown  them  in  wine, 
I  tried  it ;    but  found,  when  I  came  to  depart. 
The  wine  in  my  head,  and  still  love  in  my  heart. 


I  repaired  to  my  Reason,  intreated  her  aid ; 
Who  paused  on  my  case,  and  each  circumstance  weighed, 
Then  gravely  pronounced,   in  return  to  my  prayer, 
'That  Hebe  was  fairest  of  all  that  was  fairl' 


*  That  's  a  truth,'  replied  I,  *  I've  no  need  to  be  taught! 
I  came  for  your  counsel  to  find  out  a  fault ! ' 

*  If  that  's  all,'  quoth   Reason,  'return  as  you  came! 
To  find  fault  with  Hebe,  would  forfeit  my  name!' 


What  hopes  then,  alas !   of  relief  from  my  pain ; 
While,  like  lightning,  she  darts  through  each  throbbing 

vein ! 
My  Senses  surprised,  in  her  favour  took  arms ; 
And  Reason  confirms  me  a  slave  to  her  charms. 


226 


yoJni  West,  Earl  De  la  IVarr. 


The    Earl    De    la    Warrs 
Farewell  to    the  Maids  of  Honour; 

ON   HIS    BEING    PROMOTED    TO   HIS   LATE    FATHERS    TrOOP 
AND    RESIGNING    THE    PLACE    OF     VicE-ChAMBERLAIN 

TO  Her  Ma'jesty, 


Ye  Maids,  who  Britain's  Court  bedeck. 
Miss  Wrotteslev,  Beauclerk,  Tryon,  Keck, 

Miss  Meadows  and  Boscawen  ; 
A  dismal  tale   I   have  to  tell ! 
This  is,  to  bid  you  all.   Farewell! 

Farewell  !    for  I  am  going ! 


I  leave  you.  Girls !    indeed  'tis  true  ! 
Although  to  be  esteemed  by  you 

Has  ever  been  my  pride, 
"lis  often  done  at  Court,  you  know  ! 
To  leave  one's  dearest  friends  ;    and  o-q 

Over  to  t'other  Side. 

•J  a  227 


yohn  West,  Earl  De  la  IVarr. 

No  longer  shall  we  laugh  and  chat, 
In  th'  outer  room,  on  this  and  that, 

Until  the  Queen  shall  call. 
Our  gracious  King  has  called  me  now. 
Nay !   holds  a  stick  up  too,  I  vow  1 

And  so,  GOD  bless  you  all ! 


They  tell  me,  that  one  word  a  day 
From  him  is  worth  the  whole  you  say. 

Fair  Ladies !    in  a  year ! 
A  word  from  him  I  highly  prize ; 
But  who  can  leave  your  beauteous  eyes 

Without  one  tender  tear  ? 


No  longer  shall  I  now  be  seen 
Handing  along  our  matchless  Queen, 

So  generous,  good,  and  kind; 
While,  one  by  one,  each  smiling  Lass 
First  drops  a  curtsy  as  we  pass, 

Then  trips  along  behind. 


Adieu !   my  much-loved  Golden  Key ! 
No  longer  to  be  worn  by  me, 

Adorned  with  ribband  blue! 
Which  late,   I  heard,  looked  ill  and  pale: 
I  thought  it  but  an  idle  tale ; 

But  now  believe  'twas  true! 
228 


yoJin  IVest,  Earl  De  la  IVarr. 

Farewell,  my  good  Lord  Harcourt  too! 
What  can,  alas  !    your  Lordship  do 

Alone  among  the  Maids  ? 
You  soon  must  some  assistance  ask ! 
You'll  have  a  very  arduous  task, 

Unless  you  call  for  aid! 


Great  is  the  charge  you  have  in  care  I 
Indeed,  my  pretty  Maidens  fair! 

His  situation  's  nice ! 
As  Chamberlain,  we  shall  expect 
That  he,  sole  guardian,  shall  protect 

Six  Maids  without  a  Vice ! 


aay 


Rt.  Hon.  yustice  Sir  James  Marriott. 


ARION. 

'TwAS  when  the  winds  were  roaring  loud, 

And  Ocean  swelled  his  billows  high, 

By  savage  hands  condemned  to  die, 
Raised  on  the  stern,  the  trembling  Lesbian  stood. 

All  pale,  he  heard  the  tempest  blow, 

As  on  the  wat'ry  grave  below 
He  fixed  his  weeping  eye. 

Ah !   hateful  lust  of  impious  gold ! 

What  can  thy  mighty  rage  withhold. 
Deaf  to  the  melting  powers  of  Harmony ! 

But  ere  the  Bard  unpitied  dies, 

Again  his  soothing  art  he  tries! 
Again  he  sweeps  the  strings! 

Slowly  sad  the  notes  arise ; 
While  thus,  in  plaintive  sounds,  the  sweet  Musician 
sings ! 

'  From  beneath  the  coral  cave, 

Circled  with  the  silver  wave, 
Where,  with  wreaths  of  emerald  crowned, 
Ye  lead  the  festive  dance  around, 
Daughters  of  Nereus  !   hear,  and  save ! 
Ye,  Tritons !   hear !    whose  blast  can  swell 
With  mighty  sounds  the  twisted  shell! 
And  you,  ye  sister  Sirens !    hear ! 

Ever  beauteous,  ever  sweet, 
230 


Rf.  HoiL  yustice  Sir  yames  Marriott. 

Who  lull  the  list'ning  Pilot's  ear 
With  Magic  Song-,  and  softly-breathed  deceit ! 

By  all  the  Gods,  who  subject  roll, 
From  gushing  urns,  their  tribute  to  the  Main ! 

By  him,  who  bids  the  winds  to  roar ! 

By  him,  whose  trident  shakes  the  shore  ! 
If  e'er  for  you,   I   raise  the  sacred  strain, 
When  pious  mariners  your  power  adore, 

Daughters  of  Nereus!    hear,  and  save!' 


He  sang ;  and  from  the  coral  cave, 
Circled  with  the  silver  wave, 
With  pitying  ear, 
The  Nereids  hear. 
Gently  the  waters  flowing. 
The  winds  now  ceased  their  blowing, 
In  silence  listening  to  the  tuneful  Lay. 
Around  the  bark's  sea-beaten  side, 

The  sacred   Dolphin  played  ; 
And,  sportive,  dashed  the  briny  tide. 
The  joyous  omen  soon  the  Bard  surveyed, 
And  sprang,  with  bolder  leap,  to  try  the  wat'ry  way. 
On  his  scaly  back  now  riding. 
O'er  the  curling  billow  gliding, 
Again,  with  bold  triumphant  hand, 

He  bade  the  notes  aspire! 
Again   to  joy  attuned  the  lyre! 
Forgot  each  danger  past,  secure  ;  and  gained  the  land. 

331 


Rt.  Hon.  yustice  Sir  yames  Marriott. 


CAPTAIN  CUPID, 

Erst,  in  Cythera's  sacred  shade, 

When  Venus  clasped  the  God  of  War, 

The  laughing  Loves  around  them  played, 
One  bore  the  shield,  and  one  the  spear. 

The  little  warriors  Cupid  led, 

The  gorget  glittered  on  his  breast; 

The  mighty  helmet  o'er  his  head 
Nodded  its  formidable   crest. 

Oft  since,  to  win  some  stubborn  Maid, 
Still  does  the  wanton  God  assume 

The  martial  Air,  the  gay  cockade. 

The  sword,  the  shoulder-knot,  and  plume. 

Phyllis  had  long  his  power  defied. 
Resolved  her  conquests  to  maintain  ; 

His  fruitless  art  each   Poet  tried ! 

Each  Shepherd  tuned  his  pipe  in  vain! 

Till  Cupid  came,  a  Captain  bold. 

Of  trenches  and  of  palisadoes 
He  talked;    and  many  a  tale  he  told 

Of  battles,  and  of  ambuscadoes.  .  .  . 

Ye  Bards !   on  Verse  let  Phcebus  dote ! 

Ye  Shepherds !   leave  your  pipes  to  Pan  ! 
Nor  Verse,  nor  pipe,  will   Phyllis  note  ; 

The  Captain  is  the  charming  man ! 
232  


Rf.  Hon.  yustice  Sir  yauics  Marriott. 


CANZONETTA. 

Soft  slept  the  sea  within  its  silver  bed. 

To  the  scarce  breathing  gale 
The  silken  sail 

With  vent'rous  hands  I  spread  : 
And  saw  the  rocks,  and  passed ;    yet  felt  no  fear ! 
All  danger  distant  seemed;  which  was,  alas!  too  near! 


Love,  calm  deceiver!   seated  by  my  side, 
His  secret  fraud  enjoyed! 

Too  oft  employed 
In  sport  my  bark  to  guide ! 
We  reached  the  port.     The  litde   Pilot  smiled. 
Can  Love  deceive  .-* '   I  said,  and  kissed  the  laughing 
Child. 


He  clapped  his  wings  ;    and  lightly,  through  the  air. 

Flew  from  my  longing  eyes. 
The  storms  arise, 

And  back  my  vessel  bear. 
Secure  what  port  can  hapless  Lovers  meet  ? 
We  blame  the  winds  and  seas;  yet  clasp  the  dear  deceit! 


233 


William  yulius  Mickle. 


THE  MARINER'S    WIFE. 

But  are  you  sure,  the  news  is  true  ? 

And  are  you  sure,  he  *s  well  ? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark  ? 
Ye  jades  !   fling  by  your  Wheel ! 
There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house! 

There  's  nae  luck  at  a' ! 
There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house 
When  our  Goodman  's  awa! 


Is  this  a  time  to  think  of  wark, 

When  Colin  's  at  the  door  ? 
Rax  me  my  cloak !    I'll  down  the  Key, 

And  see  him  come  ashore  ! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house!  &c. 


Rise  up,  and  make  a  clean  fireside! 

Put  on  the  muckle  pat  I 
Gie  little  Kate  her  cotton  gown; 

And  Jock  his  Sunday's  coat! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house !    &c. 


234 


William  J n  I  ins  Mickle. 


Make  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes, 

Their  stockina;s  white  as  snaw ! 
It  's  a'  to  pleasure  our  Goodman, 

He  likes  to  see  them  braw! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house !   &c. 


There  are  twa  hens  into  the  crib, 
Have  fed  this  month  and  mair; 

Make  haste,  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 
That  Colin  well  may  fare ! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house!   &c. 


Bring  down  to  me  my  bigonet! 

My  bishop-satin  gown ! 
And  then  gae  tell  the  Bailie's  Wife, 

That  Colin  's  come  to  town ! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house!  &c. 


My  Turkey  slippers   I'll  put  on, 

My  stockings  pearl-blue ! 
And  a'  to  pleasure  our  Goodman! 
For  he  's  baith  leel  and  true ! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house !  8:c. 

235 


PFilliam  yulius  Mickle. 


Sae  sweet  his  voice,  sae  smooth  his  tongue, 

His  breath  's  Hke  cauler  air ! 
His  very  tread  has  music  in't, 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house!    &c. 


[The  cauld  blasts  of  the  winter  wind, 

That  thrilled  thro'  my  heart, 
They're  a'  blaun  by  I    I  hae  him  safe ! 

Till  death,  we'll  never  part! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house !   &c. 


But  what  puts  parting  in  my  head! 

It  may  be  far  awa ! 
The  present  moment  is  our  ain ! 

The  neist  we  never  saw! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house ! 


&c.] 


And  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  with  the  joy  ! 

In  troth !    I'm  like  to  greet ! 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house!    &c. 


336 


PVilliam  Julius  Mickle. 


The  dews  of  summer  niofht  did  fall. 

The  moon  (sweet  Regent  of  the  sky !) 
Silvered  the  walls  of  Cumnor  Hall 

And  many  an  oak  that  grew  thereby. 

Now  noiicrht  was  heard  beneath  the  skies 
(The  sounds  of  busy  life  were  still) 

Save  an  unhappy  Lady's  sighs, 
That  issued  from  that  lonely  Pile. 

*  Leicester!'  she  cried,  'is  this  thy  love, 

That  thou  so  oft  hast  sworn  to  me  } 
To  leave  me  in  this  lonely  grove, 
Immured  in  shameful  privity ! 

'  No  more  thou  com'st,  with  Lover's  speed. 

Thy  once-beloved  Bride  to  see  ! 
But  be  she  alive,  or  be  she  dead. 

I  fear,  stern  Earl !    's  the  same  to  thee  ! 

*  Not  so  the  usage   I   received, 

When  happy  in  my  father's   Hall! 
No  faithless  husband  then  me  grieved! 
No  chilling  fears  did  me  appal  I 

'  I   rose  up  with  the  cheerful  morn  ; 

No  lark  more  blithe !    no  flower  more  gay ! 
And,  like  the   bird  that  haunts  the  thorn, 

So  merrily  sang  the  life-long  day  ! 

237 


IVilliam  yulius  Mickle. 


*  If  that  my  beauty  is  but  small, 
Among  Court  Ladies  all  despised, 

Why  didst  thou  rend  it  from  that  Hall  ? 
Where,  scornful  Earl!   it  well  was  prized. 

'  And  when  you  first  to  me  made  suit, 
"  How  fair  I  was ! "    you  oft  would  say ; 

And  proud  of  conquest,  plucked  the  fruit ; 
Then  left  the  blossom  to  decay. 

'  Yes !    now  neglected  and  despised, 
The  rose  is  pale  !   the  lily  's  dead ! 

But  he,  that  once  their  charms  so  prized. 
Is,  sure,  the  cause  those  charms  are  fled ! 

'  For  know,  when  sick'ning  grief  doth  prey, 
And  tender  love  's  repaid  with  scorn, 

The  sweetest  Beauty  will  decay ! 

What  flow'ret  can  endure  the  storm  ? 

*At  Court,  I'm  told,  is  Beauty's  throne, 
Where  every  Lady  's  passing  rare ; 

That  eastern  flowers,  that  shame  the  sun, 
Are  not  so  glowing!    not  so  fair! 

Then,  Earl !   why  didst  thou  leave  the  beds 

Where  roses  and  where  lilies  vie. 
To  seek  a  primrose  ?    whose  pale  shades 
Must  sicken,  when  those  gauds  are  by. 
238 


William   yitlius  Mickle. 


'  'Mong  rural   Beauties,   I  was  one ! 

Among  the  fields,  wild  flowers  are  fair  ! 
Some  countr}''  Swain  might  me  have  won ; 

And  thought  my  beauty  passing  rare ! 

'  But,  Leicester  !    or  I  much  am  wrongr 
Or  'tis  not  Beauty  lures  thy  vows  ! 

Rather  Ambition's  gilded  crown 

Makes  thee  forget  thy  humble  Spouse ! 

*  Then,   Leicester  !    why  (again  I  plead ! 

The  injured  surely  may  repine !), 
Why  didst  thou  wed  a  country  Maid  ; 

When  some  fair   Princess  might  be  thine  ? 

'  Why  didst  thou  praise  my  humble  charms ; 

And,  oh  !    then  leave  them  to  decay  ? 
Why  didst  thou  win  me  to  thy  arms  ; 

Then  leave  me  mourn  the  life-long  day  ? 

*  The  village  Maidens  of  the  plain 

Salute  me  lowly,  as  they  go  : 
Envious,  they  mark  my  silken  train  ; 
Nor  think  a  Countess  can  have  woe  ! 

'  The  simple   Nymphs  !    they  little  know 
How  far  more  happy  's  their  estate! 

To  smile  for  joy,  than  sigh   for  woe  ! 
To  be  content,  than  to  be  Great! 

239 


IVilliam  yulius  Mickle. 


*  How  far  less  blessed  am  I  than  them ! 

Daily  to  pine,  and  waste  with  care! 
Like  the  poor  plant  that,  from  its  stem 
Divided,  feels  the  chilling  air! 

*  Nor,  cruel  Earl !    can  I  enjoy 

The  humble  charms  of  Solitude! 
Your  minions  proud  my  peace  destroy, 
By  sullen  frowns,  or  pratings  rude. 

*  Last  night,  as  sad  I  chanced  to  stray, 

The  village  death  bell  smote  my  ear. 
They  winked  aside,  and  seemed  to  say, 
"  Countess,  prepare  !    Thy  end  is  near  1 " 

'And  now,  while  happy  peasants  sleep, 

Here  I  sit  lonely  and  forlorn. 
No  one  to  soothe  me,  as  I  weep; 

Save  Philomel  on  yonder  thorn. 

*  My  spirits  flag  !    My  hopes  decay ! 

Still  that  dread  death  bell  smites  my  ear! 
And  many  a  boding  seems  to  say, 

"  Countess,  prepare  I    Thy  end  is  near ! 


»» 


Thus,  sore  and  sad,  that  Lady  grieved 
In  Cumnor  Hall  so  lone  and  drear  ; 

And  many  a  heartfelt  sigh  she  heaved, 
And  let  fall  many  a  bitter  tear! 

240 


IVilliaDi  ynliiis  Mickle. 


And  ere  the  dawn  of  day  appeared, 
In  Cumnor  Hall  so  lone  and  drear, 

Full  many  a  piercing  scream  was  heard  ; 
And  many  a  cry  of  mortal  fear. 

The  death  bell  thrice  was  heard  to  ring. 

An  aerial  voice  was  heard  to  call : 
And  thrice  the  raven  flapped  its  wing 

Around  the  towers  of  Cumnor  Hall. 

The  mastiff  howled  at  village  door. 

The  oaks  were  shattered  on  the  Green. 
Woe  was  the  hour !     For  never  more 

That  hapless  Countess  e'er  was  seen ! 

And  in  that  Manor  now  no  more 
Is  cheerful  Feast  and  sprightly  Ball 

For,  ever  since  that  dreary  hour, 
Have  spirits  haunted  Cumnor  Hall. 

The  village  IMaids,  with  fearful  glance, 
Avoid  the  ancient  moss-grown  wall ; 

Nor  ever  lead  the  merry  dance 

Among  the  groves  of  Cumnor  Hall 

Full  many  a  traveller  oft  hath  sighed. 
And  pensive  wept  the  Countess'  fall. 

As,  wand'ring  onwards,  they  have  spied 
The  haunted  towers  of  Cumnor   Hall. 


BRIT.   AMH.    IZ.  R  241 


Anonymous. 


THE  FOND  SHEPHERDESS. 

How  welcome,  my  Shepherd !   how  welcome  to  me 
Is  ev'ry  occasion  of  meeting  with  thee! 
But  when  thou  art  absent,  how  joyless  am  I ! 
Methinks,   I,  contented,  could  sit  down  and  die ! 
I  rail  at  the  hours,  that  so  slowly  they  move  ; 
While  I'm  at  a  distance  from  all  that  I   love. 
Then,  weeping,  complain  of  my  ill-natured  fate, 
Repine  at  my  Being,  and  curse  my  sad  state ! 

With  trifling  amusements,   I  sometimes  beguile 
My  cares  for  a  moment,  and  cheerfully  smile : 
But  quickly  thy  image  returns  to  my  soul ; 
And,  in  my  sad  bosom,  new  hurricanes  roll ! 
No  joy  can  be  lasting,  when  thou  art  not  here! 
Thy  presence  alone  can  thy  Shepherdess  cheer ! 
Thy  looks,  like  the  sun,  chase  all  Vapours  away; 
And,  blessed  with  thy  sight,  I  could  always  be  gay! 

How  happy  am  I,  while  upon  thee  I  gaze ! 
How  pleased  with  the  beauty  that  shines  in  thy  face! 
What  charms  do  I  find,  in  thy  person  and  Air; 
And,  if  you  converse,  I  for  ever  could  hear! 
The  oft'ner  I  see  you,  the  more  I  approve 
The  choice  I  have  made ;  and  am  fixed  in  my  love : 
For  merit  like  yours  still  brighter  is  shown ; 
And  more  must  be  valued,  the  more  it  is  known ! 
242 


Anonymous. 


To  live  In  a  cottage  with  thee  I  would  choose ; 
And  crowns,  for  thy  sake,   I  should  gladly  refuse ! 
Not  all  the  vast  treasures  of  wealthy  Peru, 
To  me  should  seem  precious  ;  if  balanced  with  you  ! 
For  all  my  ambition  to  thee  is  confined; 
And  nothing  could  please  me,  if  thou  wert   unkind ! 
Then  faithfully  love  me  ;    and  happier  I'll  be 
Than  placed  on  a  throne,  if  to  reign  without  thee ! 


THE  PLOUGHMAN'S  DITTY. 

When  Molly  smiles,  beneath  her  cow, 
I  feel  my  heart,   I  can't  tell  how  ! 
When  Molly  is,  on  Sunday,  drest  ; 
On  Sundays,  I  can  take  no  rest ! 


What  can  I  do  ?     On  workydays, 
I  leave  my  work,  on  her  to  gaze  ! 
What  shall  I  say  ?     At  Sermon   I 
Forget  the  text,  when  Molly  's  by ! 


Good  Master  Curate  !    teach  me  how 
To  mind  your  preaching  and  my  plough  ! 
And  if  for  this  you'll  raise  a  spell  ; 
A  good  fat  goose  shall  thank  you  well ! 

R  2  243 


Charles  Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset. 


TO  A  FRIEND, 

WHO    PRESSED    THE   AuTHOR    TO    MARRY  FOR    THE    SAKE 
OF   A    GREAT  FORTUNE. 

In  vain,  with  riches  would  you  try 

My  steadfast  heart  to  move! 
No !    I'll  give  up  my  liberty 

For  no  less  price  than  Love! 

Riches,  indeed,  may  give  me  power; 

But  not  a  cheerful  mind ! 
Whilst  joy  and  peace  attend  each  hour 

On  those  whom  Love  has  joined. 

But  should  the  itch  of  power,  or  State, 

My  views,  to  riches  carry ; 
I'd  cringe  at  Court,  in  Senate  prate : 

Do  anything  but  marry! 

Since,  then,  not  Wealth's  deceitful  show 

Can  tempt  me  to  this  chain  ; 
Try  next,  what  gen'rous  Love  can  do! 

All  other  bribes  are  vain! 
244  


Charles  Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset. 


Swains  !     I  hate  the  boist'rous  Fair ; 

Who,  bold,  assume  a  manly  Air ! 
Soft,  unaffected,  gentle,  be 
Still  the  Girl  that  's  made  for  me ! 


Let  her  not  boast,  like  Man,  to  dare 
The  dangers  of  the  sylvan  war ; 

With  gentler  sports  delighted  be 
The  Girl  that  Fate  ordains  for  me! 


Nor  pert  Coquet,  nor  formal   Prude ; 
Gay  let  her  be,  but  never  rude ! 

From   Airs,  from  flights,  from  Vapours,  free; 

She  's  the  Girl  that  's  made  for  me  1 


Her  wrll-chose  dress,  in  ev'ry  part, 

Be  artful  without  shewing  art ; 

From  all  fantastic  fashions  free, 
She  *s  the  Girl  that  's  made  for  me ! 


Loose  flow  her  locks,  witliout  constraint! 
Her  healthy  checks,  let  Nature  paint! 

To  all  a  Goddess  seem  to  be  ; 

And  prove  a  Woman  still  to  me ! 


245 


Charles  Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset. 


THE  HAPPY  HUSBAND. 

How  fresh  does  the  morning  appear! 

The  music,  how  sweet  from  the  grove !  | 

O,  how  blessed  is  the  Swain  that  is  clear 

From  the  pains  of  unsatisfied  love! 
No  slumber  these  eyes  ever  knew, 

While  Phcebe  remained  unpossessed! 
From  friends  and  companions  I  flew, 

A  stranger  to  friendship  and  rest 

My  sheep,  by  their  Shepherd  forsook, 

Lay  pent  in  their  fold  till  midday, 
Whilst  I,  by  the  side  of  a  brook. 

Would  complain  the  dull  hours  away. 
Nor  all  the  gay  flowers  of  the  field, 

Whose  sweetness  perfumed  the  soft  air, 
A  joy  to  my  senses  could  yield; 

Unless  the  loved  Phcebe  was  there! 

Alas !    silly  Swain  I    how  I  burned ! 

Sure,   Passion  like  mine  ne'er  appeared! 
When  absent,  her  absence  I  mourned  ; 

When  present,  her  absence  I  feared! 
But  now  all  this  folly  is  o'er, 

Since  Phcebe  to  me  has  proved  kind; 
I  sigh  and  I  languish  no   more, 

But  contentment  in  everything  find. 
246 


CJiarles  SackvlJIc,  Duke  of  Dorset. 

Full  joy  in  her  presence  I  have  ; 

But  her  absence  now  breaks  not  my  rest ! 
For,  with  her  dear  person,  she  gave 

Me  her  heart,  to  lock  up  in  my  breast. 
O,  how  cheerful  my  flocks  now  I  guide, 

At  noon  where  to  taste  the  fresh  streams. 
Whilst  I   sing,  to  the  tune  of  Tweed  side. 

On  the  pleasanter  banks  of  the  Thames ! 


INVOCATION  TO  CLOE. 

Let  other  Bards  invoke  the  tuneful   Nine, 
Or  call  Apollo  to  their  great  design ; 
Whilst  I,  contented  with  my  happier  fate, 
A  smile  from  you,  to  crown  my  labours  wait. 


Smile  then  propitious  on  my  feeble  Lays ; 
And  make  them  equal  to  my  Cloe's  praise ! 
In  that  just  mean,  instruct  my  verse  to  flow  ; 
Not  harshly  rough,  nor  languishingly  slow : 
But  graceful  easy   Numbers  let  me  bring! 
Graceful  and  easy  as  the   Nymph   I   sing! 

Then  when,  with   envy,  future   Bards  enquire. 
What  powerful  charms,  such   Numbers  could  inspire? 
With   pride  and   pleasure  shall    I   own,  that  you 
Who  made  the  Lover,  made  the   Poet  too ! 

247 


Lady  Anne  Barnard. 


AULD  ROBIN  GREY, 
[The  First  Part. 
The  Second  Part  was  not  printed  until  1834.^ 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  faiild,  and  the  ky  at  hame, 

And  a'  the  warld  to  sleep  are  gane, 
The  waes  of  my  heart  fa's  in  showers  frae  my  eye, 

When  my  Gudeman  lyes  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jemmy  loo'd  me  well,  and  he  sought  me  for 
his  Bride ; 

But  saving  a  crown,  he  had  naething  beside! 
To  make  that  crown  a  pound,  my  Jemmy  gade  to  sea ; 

And  the  crown  and  the  pound  were  baith  for  me ! 

He  had  nae  been  awa'  a  week  but  only  twa, 
When  my  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  the  cow  was 
stoun  awa' ; 

My  father  brake  his  arm,  and  my  Jemmy  at  the  sea, 
And  auld  Robin  Grey  came  a  courting  me. 

My  father  coudna  work,  and  my  mother  coudna  spin. 

I  toiled  day  and  night ;  but  their  bread  I  coudna  win  ! 
Auld  Rob  maintain'd  them  baith  ;  and,  wi' tears  in  his  ee, 

Said  'Jenny!    for  their  sakes,  O,  marry  me!' 
248 


Lady  Anne  Barnard. 


My  heart,  it  said  'Nay!'    I  looked  for  Jemmy  back; 

But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a  wreck. 
The  ship  it  was  a  wreck,  why  didna  Jemmy  die? 

And  why  do  I  live  to  say  '  Wae  's  me ! '  ? 


Auld  Robin  argued  fair.    Tho'  my  mother  didna  speak  ; 

She  looked  in  my  face,  till  my  heart  was  like  to  break  ! 
So  they  gi  ed  him  my  hand,  tho'  my  heart  was  in 
the  sea ; 

And  auld  Robin  Grey  is  Gudeman  to  me. 


I  hadna  been  a  Wife  a  week  but  only  four, 
When,  sitting  sae  mournfully  at  the  door, 

I   saw  my  Jemmy's  wraith  ;    for  I  coudna  think  it  he. 
Till  he  said,   *  I'm  come  back  for  to  marry  thee  ! ' 


O,  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muckle  did  we  say! 

W^e  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  we  tore  ourselves  away 
I  wish   I  were  dead !    but  I'm  no  like  to  die  ; 

And  why  do   I   live  to  say  '  Wae  's  me  I '  ? 


I  gang  like  a  ghaist ;    and  I  carena  to  spin ! 

I  darena  think  of  Jemmy  ;  for  that  wou'd  be  a  sin 
But   I'll  do  my  best  a  gude  Wife  to  be  ; 

For  auld  Robin  Grey  is  kind  unto  me. 


249 


George  Alexander  Stevens. 


THE  TRIO. 

Wit,  Love,  and  Reputation  walked 

One  ev'ning  out  of  Town. 
They  sung,  they  laughed,  they  toyed,  they  talked, 

Till  night  came  darkling  on. 
Love,  wilful,  needs  would  be  their  guide, 

And  smiled  at  loss  of  day; 
On  her  the  kindred  pair  relied, 

And  lost  with  her  the  way. 


Damp  fell  the  dew,  the  wind  blew  cold, 

All  bleak  the  barren  moor ; 
Across  they  toiled,  when  Love,  grown  bold, 

Knocked  loud  at  Labour's  door. 
A  while  within  the  reed-roofed  cot 

They  stood,  and  stared  at  Care  ; 
But  long  could  not  endure  the  spot, 

For  Poverty  was  there! 

250 


George  Alexander  Stevens. 


The  twain  proposed,  next  morn,  to  part, 

And  travel  different  ways. 
Quoth  Love,  '  I  soon  shall  find  a  heart ! ' 

Wit  went  to  look  for  Praise. 
But   Reputation,  sighing,  spoke 

'  'Tis  better  we  agree  ! 
Though  Love  may  laugh,  and  Wit  may  joke ; 

Yet,  friends  !    take  care  of  me ! ' 


'  Without  me,   Beauty  wins  no  heart ! 

Without  me.  Wit  is  vain! 
If,  headstrong,  here  with  me  you  part ; 

We  ne'er  can  meet  again ! 
Of  me,  you  both  should  take  great  care ; 

And  shun  the  rambling  plan ! 
No  calling  back,  my  friends!     I'll  bear! 

So  keep  me,  while  you  can ! ' 


Love  stopped  among  the  village  youth, 

Expecting  to  be  crowned. 
Enquiring  for  her  brother  Truth  ; 

But  Truth  was  never  found! 
She  sought  in  vain  ;    for  Love  was  blind, 

And  Hate  her  guidance  crost. 
'Tis  said,  since  Truth  she  cannot  find. 

That  L(>\i    herself  is  lost! 

251 


Anonymous. 


Gay  Damon  long  studied,  my  heart  to  obtain, 
The  prettiest  young  Shepherd  that  pipes  on  the  plain, 
I'd  hear  his  soft  tale,  then  declare  'twas  amiss ; 
And  I'd  often  say  '  No ! ',  when  I  longed  to  say  '  Yes ! '. 

Last  Valentine's  Day,  to  our  cottage  he  came ; 
And  brought  me  two  lambkins,  to  witness  his  flame. 
*  O,  take  these ! ',  he  cried,  '  thou  more  fair  than  their 

fleece ! ' 
I  could  hardly  say  *  No  !' ;  though  ashamed  to  say  'Yes!'. 


Soon  after,  one  morning,  we  sat  in  the  grove. 

He  pressed  my  hand  hard,and  in  sighs  breathed  his  love ; 

Then  tenderly  asked,  If  I'd  grant  him  a  kiss  ? 

I  designed  to've  said, '  No ! ' ;  but  mistook,  and  said '  Yes !'. 


At  this,  with  delight  his  heart  danced  in  his  breast. 
'  Ye  Gods  ! '  he  cried,  '  Chloe  will  now  make  me  blest! 
Come,  let  's  to  the  Church  ;  and  share  conjugal  bliss ! ' 
To  prevent  being  teased,  I  was  forced  to  say  '  Yes  I '. 

I  ne'er  was  so  pleased  with  a  word  in  my  life! 
I  ne'er  was  so  happy  as  since  I'm  a  Wife! 
Then  take,  ye  young  Damsels !   my  counsel  in  this. 
You  must  all  die  Old  Maids,  if  you  will  not  say  'Yes!'. 
252  


Anonymo7is. 


The  shape  and  face  let  others  prize, 

And  features  of  the  Fair! 
I  look  for  spirit  in  her  eyes, 

And  meaning  in  her  Air! 
A  rosy  cheek  and  lily  arm 

Shall  ne'er  my  fancy  win ! 
Give  me  an  animated  Form, 

That  speaks  a  mind  within ! 


A  Soul  where  virtuous  Honour  shines; 

Where  Sense  and  Sweetness  move! 
Where  Aneel  Innocence  refines 

The  tenderness  of  Love ! 
These  are  the  life  of  Beauty's  frame! 

Without  whose  vital  aid, 
Unfinished  all  her  features  seem, 

And  all  her  colours  dead! 


But  when  these  charms  do  both  unite, 

How  perfect  is  the  view! 
With  every  image  of  delight, 

And  graces  ever  new! 
Their  power  but  faintly  to  express, 

All  language  must  despair ! 
Go  then,  behold   my  Celia's  face, 

And  read  it  perfect  there! 

253 


Rev.  yohn  Logan. 


ODE  TO  THE  CUCKOO. 


Hail  !   beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove ! 

Thou  Messenger  of  Spring! 
Now  Heaven  repairs  thy  rural  seat; 

And  woods,  thy  welcome  sing! 


What  time  the  daisy  decks  the  green, 
Thy  certain  voice  we  hear! 

Hast  thou  a  star,  to  guide  thy  path. 
Or  mark  the  rolling  year  ? 


Delightful  Visitant!     With  thee 
I  hail  the  time  of  flowers  ; 

And  hear  the  sound  of  music  sweet 
From  birds  among  the  bowers. 


The  School-boy,  wand'ring  through  the  wood. 

To  pull  the  primrose  gay, 
Starts,  the  new  voice  of  Spring  to  hear, 

And  imitates  thy  Lay. 
254 


Rev.  JoJin  Logan, 


What  time  the  pea  puts  on  the  bloom, 

Thou  fli'st  thy  vocal  vale ! 
An  annual  guest  in  other  lands, 

Another  Spring  to  hail ! 


Sweet  bird  !     Thy  bower  is  ever  green ! 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear! 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thv  Soncf: 

No  winter  in  thy  year  I 


O,  could   I   fly,   I'd  fly  with  thee! 

We'd  make,  with  joyful  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe, 

Companions  of  the  Spring! 


255 


Rev.  yohn  Logan. 


'  The  day  is  departed ;   and  round  from  the  cloud 

The  Moon  in  her  beauty  appears ! 
The  voice  of  the  nightingale  warbles  aloud 

The  music  of  love  in  our  ears ! 
Maria  !   appear !     Now  the  season  so  sweet 

With  the  beat  of  the  heart  is  in  tune ! 
The  time  is  so  tender  for  Lovers  to  meet 

Alone  by  the  light  of  the  Moon !  * 


I  cannot,  when  present,  unfold  what  I  feel! 

I  sigh !     Can  a  Lover  do  more  ? 
Her  name  to  the  Shepherds  I  never  reveal; 

Yet  think  of  her  all  the  day  o'er ! 
*  Maria  !    my  Love  !     Do  you  long  for  the  grove  ? 

Do  you  sigh  for  an  interview  soon  ? 
Does  e'er  a  kind  thought  run  on  me,  as  you  rove 

Alone  by  the  light  of  the  Moon  ? 


'Your  name  from  the  Shepherds  whenever  I  hear, 

My  bosom  is  all  in  a  glow! 
Your  voice  when  it  vibrates  so  sweet  through  mine  ear, 

My  heart  thrills!    my  eyes  overflow! 
Ye  Powers  of  the  sky!   will  your  bounty  divine 

Indulge  a  fond  Lover  his  boon  ? 
Shall  heart  spring  to  heart,  and  Maria  be  mine, 

Alone  by  the  light  of  the  Moon  ? ' 
256  


Mark  Akenside,  M.D. 


'Approach  in  silence!    'lis  no  vulgar  tale 
Which   I,  the  Dryad  of  this  hoary  oak, 
Pronounce  to  mortal  ears  !     The  second  Age 
Now  hasteneth  to  its  period,  since  I  rose 
On  this  fair  lawn.     The  groves  of  yonder  Vale 
Are  all  my  offspring ;  and  each  Nymph,  who  guards 
The  copses  and  the  furrowed  fields  beyond, 
Obe}s  me !     Many  changes  have  I  seen 
In  human  things;   and  many  awful  deeds 
Of  justice,  when  the  ruling  hand  of  Jove 
Against  the  tyrants  of  the  land,  against 
The  unhallowed  Sons  of  Luxury  and  Guile, 
Was  armed  for  retribution !     Thus,  at  length, 
Expert  in  laws  divine,   I  know  the  paths 
Of  Wisdom ;  and  erroneous  Folly's  end 
Have  oft  presaged !   and  now,  well  pleased,  I  wait, 
Every  evening,  till  a  noble  Youth,  who  loves 
My  shade,  a  while  released  from  public  cares, 
Yon  peaceful  gate  shall  enter,  and  sit  down 
Beneath  my  branches.       Then,  his  musing  mind 
I   prompt,  unseen  ;   and  place  before  his  view 
Sincerest  forms  of  good  ;   and  move  his  heart. 
With  the  dread  bounties  of  the  Sire  supreme 
( )f  Gods  and  men,  with   Freedom's  generous  deeds, 
i  he  lofty  voice  of  Glory,   and  the  faith 
Of  sacred   Friendship!      Stranger!    I   have  told 
My  function!      If  within   thy  bosom  dwell 
Aught  which  may  challenge  praise,  thou  wilt  not  leave 
Unhonoured  my  abode!   nor  shall    1    hear 
A  sparing  benediction  from  thy  tongue!' 

IIHIT.   ANTll     IX.  S  257 


Anonymous. 


THE  HAPPY  COUPLE. 

At  Upton  on  the  Hill, 

There  lives  a  happy  pair ; 
The  Swain  his  name  is  Will, 

And  Molly  is  the  Fair. 
Ten  years  are  gone  and  more, 

Since  Hymen  joined  these  two ; 
Their  hearts  were  one  before 

The  sacred  rites  they  knew. 

Since  which  auspicious  day, 

Sweet  harmony  does  reign : 
Both  love,  and  both  obey  ; 

Hear  this,  each  Nymph  and  Swain ! 
If  haply  cares  invade 

(As  who  is  free  from  care !) 
Th'  impression  's  lighter  made, 

By  taking  each  a  share. 

Pleased  with  a  calm  retreat, 

They've  no  ambitious  view : 
In  plenty  live,  not  State, 

Nor  envy  those  that  do. 
Sure,   Pomp  is  empty  noise ! 

And  cares  increase  with  Wealth ! 
They  aim  at  truer  joys, 

Tranquillity  and  Health ! 
258 


Aywuymous. 


With  safety,  and  with  ease, 

Their  present  Hfe  does  flow. 
They  fear  no  raging  seas. 

Nor  rocks  that  hirk  below. 
Ma)-  still  a  steady  gale. 

Their  little  bark  attend ! 
And  gently  fill  each  sail, 

Till  Life  itself  shall  end! 


Consider,  dear  Daughter !   what  'tis  to  be  rich ! 

Nor  spurn,  thus  unwise,  at  the  blessing! 
The  views  of  being  wealthy,  most  women  bewitch ! 

Such   Husbands  are,  sure,  worth  possessing! 

Vou  tell  me  'He  's  silly!'.     I   say,  He  has  pence  I 
His  acres  are  boundless!    his  treasure  's  immense! 

A  coach  and  six  horses  is   Beauty  and  Sense ! 
Then,  prithee,  no  longer  refuse  him  ! 


THE    WOODEN    WALLS  OE  ENGLAND. 

Wmkn   Britain,  on  her  sea-girt  shore. 
Her  ancient  Druids  erst  addressed, 

'What  aid,'   she  cried,    'shall    I    implore? 
What  best  defence,  by  numbers  pressed  ?  * 

s  2  259 


Anonymous. 


'  Though  hostile  nations  round  thee  rise,' 

The  mystic  Oracles  replied, 
*  And  view  thine  Isle  with  envious  eyes ; 

Their  threats  defy !    their  rage  deride ! 
Nor  fear  invasion  from  those  adverse  Gauls  ! 
Britain's  best  Bulwarks  are  her  Wooden  Walls 


*  Thine  Oaks  descending  to  the  Main, 

With  floating  forts  shall  stem  the  tide ; 
Asserting  Britain's  liquid  reign, 

Where'er  her  thund'ring  Navy  rides ! 
Nor  less  to  peaceful  arts  inclined, 

Where  Commerce  opens  all  her  stores. 
In  social  bands  shall  league  Mankind, 

And  join  the  sea-divided  shores ! 
Spread  then  thy  sails,  where  naval  glory  calls ! 
Britain's  best  Bulwarks  are  her  Wooden  Walls 


Hail,  happy  Isle!    what  though  thy  vales 

No  vine-empurpled  tribute  yield. 
Nor  fanned  with  odour-breathing  gales, 

Nor  crops  spontaneous  glad  the  field ; 
Yet  Liberty  rewards  the  toil 

Of  Industry  to  labour  prone ; 
Who  jocund  ploughs  the  grateful  soil. 

And  rekps  the  harvest  she  has  sown ! 
While  other  realms  tyrannic  sway  enthralls ; 
Britain's  best  Bulwarks  are  her  Wooden  Walls ! 

260  


Anonymous. 


Stkephon's  sole  care  is,  how  to  join 
The  lofty  elm  and  tender  vine ; 
Whilst  in  the  vale  beneath  he  views 
His  wand'ring  sheep  and  grazing  cows. 


Sometimes  he  prunes  the  useless  shoots, 
And  grafts  a  branch  of  better  fruits ; 
Or  casks  the  honey's  luscious  juice, 
Or  shears  his  tender  sickly  ewes. 


When  Autumn's  fruitful  month  appears, 
He  gathers,  with  delight,  the  pears, 
And  purple  grapes  so  red,  so  sweet, 
From  trees  and  vines  himself  had  set. 


Sometimes  he  basks  beneath   the  shade. 

Or  on  the  grass  supinely  laid, 

Close  by  some  brook,  or  limpid  sprin 


( r  • 
£>   » 


Whilst  all   the  winLfed  musicians  sine. 


The  rivers  murmur  as  they  creep. 
And  gently  lull  the  Swain  to  sleep. 
These  pleasures  and  these  sports  remove 
All  thoughts  of  Care,  and   pains  of  Love 
261 


Rev.   Thomas  Fitzgerald. 


No !    No !     'Tis  in  vain,  in  this  turbulent  Town, 
To  expect  either  pleasure  or  rest ! 

To  hurry  and  nonsense  still  tying  us  down, 
'Tis  an  overgrown   Prison  at  best ! 


From  hence,  to  the  Country  escaping  away ; 

Leave  the  crowd  and  the  bustle  behind ! 
And  there,  you'll  see  liberal   Nature  display 

A  thousand  delights  to  Mankind ! 


The  change  of  the  Seasons,  the  sports  of  the  fields, 
The  sweetly  diversified  scene,  « 

The  groves,  and  the  gardens  ; — nay !  everything  yields 
A  happiness  ever  serene ! 


Here,  here,  from  ambition  and  avarice  free, 

My  days  may  I  quietly  spend ! 
Whilst  the  Cits  and  the  Courtiers,  unenvied  by  me,  | 

May  gather  up  wealth  without  end! 


No!    I  thank  them!    I'll  never,  to  add  to  my  store,;; 

My  peace  and  my  freedom  resign ! 
For  who,  for  the  sake  of  possessing  the  ore,  | 

Would  be  sentenced  to  dig  in  the  mine  ? 
262  


Rev.    Thomas  Fitzgerald. 


CON  TEN  TMEN  T. 

No  glory  I   covet !    no  riches  I  want ! 

Ambition  is  nothing  to  me ! 
The  one  thing  I  beg  of  kind  Heaven  to  grant, 

Is  a  mind  independent  and  free. 

With   Passion  unruffled,  untainted  with  pride, 

By  Reason  my  Hfe  let  me  square ! 
The  wants  of  my  nature  are  cheaply  supplied, 

And  the  rest  is  but  folly  and  care ! 

The  blessings  which   Providence  freely  has  lent, 

I'll  justly  and  gratefully  prize; 
While  sweet  meditation  and  cheerful  content 

Shall  make  me  both  healthy  and  wise ! 

In  the  pleasures  the  Great  Man's  possessions  display, 

Unenvied,   I'll  challenge  my  part! 
For  ev'ry  fair  object  my  eyes  can  survey 

Contributes  to  gladden  my  heart ! 

How  vainly,   throuL(h   infinite  trouble  and  care, 

The  many  ihcir  labours  employ  ! 
Since  all   that  is  truly  delightful   in   life, 

All  but  slaves,   if  they  will,  may  enjoy! 

263 


Robert  Graham,  later  Cunninghame-Graham. 


If  doughty  deeds  my  Lady  please, 
Right  soon  I'll  mount  my  steed! 
And  strong  his  arm,  and  fast  his  seat, 

That  bears  frae  me  the  meed! 
I'll  wear  thy  colours  in  my  cap! 

Thy  picture  in  my  heart ! 
And  he  that  bends  not  to  thine  eye, 
Shall  rue  it  to  his  smart! 

Then,  tell  me,  how  to  woo  thee,  Love !  \ 

O,  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee ! 
For  thy  dear  sake,  nae  care  I'll  lake; 
Tho'  ne'er  another  trow  me! 


If  gay  attire  delight  thine  eye, 

I'll  dight  me  in  array! 
I'll  tend  thy  chamber  door  all  night, 

And  Squire  thee  all  the  day ! 
If  sweetest  sounds  can  win  thine  ear, 

These  sounds  I'll  strive  to  catch ! 
Thy  voice  I  steal,  to  woo  thysell! 
That  voice  that  nane  can  match ! 

Then,  tell  me,  how  to  woo  thee,  Love  I 

O,  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee! 
For  thy  dear  sake,  nae  care  I'll  take ; 
Tho'  ne'er  another  trow  me ! 
264 


Robeyt  Graham,  latcy  Cinmijighanie-Grahajn. 

But  if  fond  love  thy  heart  can  gain, 

I  never  broke  a  vow ! 
Nae  maiden  lays  her  skaith  to  mel 

I   never  loved  but  you ! 
For  you  alone,   1  ride  the  ring! 

For  you,   I  wear  the  blue ! 
For  you  alone,   I  strive  to  sing! 
O,  tell  me  how  to  woo  I 

O,  tell  me,  how  to  woo  thee,   Love  I 

O,  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee ! 
For  thy  dear  sake,  nae  care  I'll  take ; 
Tho'  ne'er  another  trow  me ! 


265 


Thomas  yoel. 


THE  INSENSIBLE. 

Thirsts,  a  kind  and  artless  Youth, 
Pursues,  with  fervency  and  truth, 

Chloe  divinely  fair. 
She,  sweetly  innocent  and  gay, 
Will  talk  to  him  the  life-long  day  ; 

But  with  a  careless  Air. 

To  Love's  soft  Tale,  the  gentle  Maid 
Will  lend  a  willing  ear,  'tis  said, 

And  listen  for  a  while : 
Yet  Chloe,  sure,  will  only  prove 
The  joys  of  Friendship,  not  of  Love ; 

So  answers  with  a  smile ! 

The  Swain  complains,   He  is  not  blest! 
While  Chloe,  in  her  frigid  breast, 

The  soft  return  conceals : 
Always  too  easy,  never  kind, 
To  him  insensible  and  blind ; 

Nor  thinks  what  Thirsis  feels! 

Chloe,  be  kind !      In  time,  refrain 

To  fill  the  gen'rous  mind  with  pain ! 

A  secret  I'll  impart! 

With  gentle  looks,  your  Lover  meet ! 

Be  tender,  yielding ;    yet  discreet ! 

This,  this,  will  keep  his  heart! 
266  


TJwmas  yocJ. 


Thev  tell  me,   That  Piiillis  is  witty  and  fair, 
That  sweet  is  her  voice,  and  engaging  her  Air ; 
But  can  she,  like  Emma,  this  maxim  pursue  ? 
To  be  witty  and  gay  : — yet  be  innocent  too  I 

If,  to  kill  a  dull  hour,   I  go  to  the   Ball; 
The  dancing  of  Phillis  is  praised  by  all ! 
Yet,  sure,  there  is  nothing  but  Emma  will  do ; 
For  she'll  gracefully  dance,   and  be  innocent  too\ 

Young  Damon   I   met,  t'other  day,  on  the  road, 
He  boasted  of  favours  by  Phillis  bestowed ; 
And  Emma  (believe  me!),  though  grave,  on  a  few 
Will  favours  confer: — yet  be  innocent  tool 

They  say.  That  where  Phillis  but  darts  her  bright  eyes, 
A  conquest  is  gained,  and  the  prisoner  dies  ; 
But  Emma  will  look,  and  no  danger  ensue. 
For  wliat  if  she  wounds?     Shell  be  innocent  tool 

LucKTTA,  the  Maid  of  fair   Phillis,  declares, 
That  whom  her  heart  thinks  on,  her  beauty  ensnares , 
And  I  can  tell  him  who,  dear  Emma!    loves  you; 
Because  )  ou  are  handsome,  and  innocent  too  \ 

No  longer  attempt  then,  ye   Bards !    or  ye  Beaus ! 
The  praises  of  Phillis  in  verse,  or  in  prose; 
But  turn,  pra\-,  your  eyes,  and  my  E.nlma  well  view  ' 
She  is  all   that  is  lovely,  and  innocent  tool 

267 


Anonymous. 


THE  SPINNING  WHEEL, 

Young  Colin,  fishing  near  the   Mill, 
Saw  Sally  underneath  the  Hill, 

Whose  heart  Love's  tender  power  could  feel. 
The  Mill  was  stopped,  no  Miller  there, 
She  smiled  to  see  the  Youth  appear; 

But  turned  about  her  Spinning  Wheel. 

'  Thy  cheeks,'  says  he,  *  like  peaches  bloom ! 
Thy  breath  is  like  the  Spring's  perfume ! 

On  thy  sweet  lips,  my  love  I'll  seal ! 
Yon  stately  swans,  so  white  and  sleek. 
Are  like  to  Sally's  breast  and  neck ! ' 

But  still  she  turned  her  Spinning  Wheel. 

*  Though,  Fair  One  !     Beauty's  transient  power 
Fades  like  the  new-blown  gaudy  flower; 

Not  so,  where  Virtue  loves  to  dwell ! 
For  where  sweet  Modesty  appears 
We  never  see  the  Vale  of  Years! 

She  smiled,  and  stopped  her  Spinning  Wheel. 

*  The  pomp  of  State,  the  pride  of  Wealth,' 
Says  she,  '  I  scorn,  for  Peace  and  Health ; 

Where  honest  Labour  earns  her  meal ! 
Who  tells  the  flatt'rer's  common  tale 
Can  never  o'er  my  heart  prevail ; 

And  make  me  leave  my  Spinning  Wheel ! 

268 


Anonymous. 


■  The  Swain  who  loves  the  virtuous  mind, 
Alone  can  make  young  Sally  kind ! 

For  him,   I'll  toil!    I'll  spin  and  reel!' 
'It  is  the  voice,"  says  he,  'of  Love! 
Come,  hasten  to  yon  Church  above  ! ' 

She  blushed  ;    and  left  her  Spinning  Wheel. 


THE  RACE. 

If  from  the  lustre  of  the  sun, 

To  catch  your  fleeting  shade  you  run ; 

In  vain,  is  all  your  haste.  Sir ! 
But  if  your  feet  reverse  the  race, 
The  fugitive  will  urge  the  chase, 

And  follow  you  as  fast,  Sir ! 

So  if,   at  any  time,  as  now, 
Some  scornful  Flavia  you  pursue, 

In  hopes  to  overtake  her; 
Be  sure,  you  ne'er  too  eager  be  ! 
But  look  upon  't  as  cool  as  she. 

And  seemingly  forsake  her ! 

So  I   and   Phillis,  t'other  day. 

Were  coursing  round  a  cock  of  hay, 

Whilst   I   could  ne'er  o'erget  her ; 

But,  whilst  I   found   I   ran   in  vain, 

Quite  tired,   I   turned   me  back  again  ; 

And  fl>  ing  fnjm  her,  met  her  ! 

269 


yohn  Scott. 


Why  asks  my  friend,  What  cheers  my  passing  day, 
Where  these  lone  fields  my  rural  home  inclose, 
That  all  the  pomp  the  crowded  City  shows 

Ne'er  from  that  home  allures  my  steps  away  ? 

Now,  through  the  upland  shade  I  musing  stray, 
And  catch  the  gale  that  o'er  the  woodbine  blows. 
Now,  in  the  meads,  on  river  banks  repose, 

And  breathe  rich  odour  from  the  new-mown  hay. 

Now,  pleased,  I  read  the  Poet's  lofty  Lay; 

Where  Music  fraught  with  useful  Knowledge  flows. 

Now,  Delia's  converse  makes  the  moments  gay, 
The  Maid  for  love  and  innocence  I  chose. 

O,  friend  !  The  man  who  joys  like  these  can  taste. 
On  Vice  and  Folly  needs  no  hour  to  waste! 

To   HIS    Wife. 

Friend  of  my  heart !  by  fav'ring  Heaven  bestowed. 
My  loved  companion  on  Life's  various  road ! 
Now  six  swift  years  have  winged  their  flight  away 
Since  yon  bright  sun  adorned  our  nuptial  day ! 

For  thy  sweet  smiles,  that  all  my  cares  remove, 
Soothe  all  my  griefs,  and  all  my  joys  improve; 
For  thy  sweet  converse,  ever  framed  to  please, 
With  prudence  lively,  sensible  with  ease ; 
To  thee,  the  Muse  awakes  her  tuneful  Lay, 
The  thanks  of  gratitude  sincere  to  pay! 

Thus  long  may  Hymen  hold  for  us  his  reign ; 
And  twine,  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  his  easy  chain! 
Still  may  fond  Love  and  firmest  Faith  be  mine ; 
Still  Health,  and  Peace,  and  Happiness  be  thine! 
270 


Anonymous. 


THE   JOLLY  BRISK   TAR. 

Early  one  morn,  a  jolly  brisk  Tar, 

Sio^nal  beinsf  made  for  sailing-, 
Nimbly  stepped  down,  and  told  his  Dear, 

Who  was  her  loss  bewailing, 
'Orders  are  come!     We  must  unmoor! 

The  boat  'longside  lays  waiting  ! 
Haste  away,  Moll!    you  must  on  shore! 

This  is  no  time  for  prating ! 

Molly,  with  arms  about  his  neck, 

Looked  as  if  life  had  left  her  : 
So  sad  a  word  from  her  dear  Jack, 

Of  spirits  quite  bereft  her ! 
He,  seeing  her  cheeks  to  look  so  wan, 

Laughed  at  the  silly  creature, 
Till  from  her  heart  the  blood  began 

To  brighten  every  feature. 

'Prithee,  my  Dear!  since  I   must  go, 

Why  such  concern  at  parting  ? 
You  may  be  happy,  you  well  know ! 

Other  men's  Wives  consorting- ! ' 
'  O,  no!    my  Dear!    say  no  such  thing! 

Should   I  e'er  cease  from  crying ; 
I   should,   perhaps,  rejoice  and  sing, 

If  you,  by  a  shot,  lay  dying!' 

271 


Anonyniotts. 


Just  as  she  spoke,  old  Trinculo's  call 

•  All  hands,  aloft ! '    did  ratde. 
Jack,  with  a  frown,  cries,  '  Zounds !    come,  Moll  ! 

This  is  no  time  for  prattle! 
Into  the  boat !     The  ship  's  on  way ! ' 

Molly  climbs  slowly  over; 
At  every  step,  she  cries,  '  Day !   Day !  * 

And  sighs  do  her  fears  discover. 

Now,  afar  off,  with  wat'ry  eyes, 

She  saw  the  ship  a  sailing : 
Thither  she  looks,  and  there  she  cries, 

Speech  o'er  her  tears  prevailing, 
*  Oh !    there  he  goes !    my  Dear  is  gone ! 

Gone  is  my  heart's  desire! 
Oh !    may  the  bullets  miss  my  John  I 

That  is  all  I  require ! ' 


THE  LIFE   OF  A   BELLE. 

What  lives  are  so  happy  as  those  of  the  Fair  [ 
Who  scarcely  one  moment  from  pleasure  can  spare ; 
But  leave  to  their  Husbands  reflection  and  care! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Belle  ! 

All  morning,  when  others  are  up  and  employed. 
She  's  dreaming  of  pleasures  the  last  night  enjoyed  ; 
Whilst  Betty,  for  orders  attends  at  her  side. 

Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Belle! 

273 


Anonyjiwus. 


She  breakfasts  at  noon,  and  just  slips  on  her  o^own  ; 
Calls  a  Chair  to  the  door,  and  away,  round  the  Town  ! 
And,  just  about  two,   in   the   Park  is  set  down. 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Belle ! 


Then,  trips  up  the  Mall,  and  soon  joins  with  the  rest ; 
And  of  each  awkward  creature  she  meets,  makes  a  jest! 
Kills  two  or  three  Beaus ;    and  away  to  be  drest ! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Belle  ! 


She  seldom  attends  either  High  Church,    or  Low; 
But  never  is  absent,  when  other  Belles  go! 
Nor  scruples  to  pray,  if  the  fashion  be  so! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Belle ! 


Her  dinner  and  dressing  employ  her  till  eve. 
Some  troublesome  tradesman,  to  see  her  begs  leave; 
But  the  coach  at  the  door  soon  procures  a  reprieve. 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Belle! 


All  evening,  she  visits,  drinks  tea,  plays  her  fan. 
Collects  all  the  news,  and  what  chitchat  she  can. 
And  wonders  her  Sex  can  be  fond  of  a  man ! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a   Belle  !  .  .  . 


BKIT     ANTIl.    IX  T  373 


Anna  Letitia  Barbauld. 


Come  here,  fond  Youth !    whoe'er  thou  be, 

That  boasts  to  love  as  well  as  me ; 
And  if  thy  breast  have  felt  so  wide  a  wound, 

Come  hither,  and  thy  flame  approve ! 

I'll  teach  thee,  What  it  is  to  love  ? 
And  by  what  marks,  true  Passion  may  be  found  ? 

It  is  to  be  all  bathed  in  tears, 

To  live  upon  a  smile  for  years, 
To  lie  whole  Ages  at  a  Beauty's  feet. 

To  kneel,  to  languish  and  implore, 

And  still,  though  she  disdain,  adore ! 
It  is  to  do  all  this;   and  think  thy  sufferings  sweet! 

It  is  to  gaze  upon  her  eyes 

With  eager  joy  and  fond  surprise  ; 
Yet  tempered  with  such  chaste  and  awful  fear 

As  wretches  feel,  who  wait  their  doom : 

Nor  must  one  ruder  thought  presume, 
Though  but  in  whispers  breathed,  to  meet  her  ear ! 

It  is  to  hope,  though  hope  were  lost ! 

Though  Heaven  and  Earth  thy  Passion  crost! 
Though  She  were  bright  as  sainted  Queens  above, 

And  thou  the  least  and  meanest  Swain 

That  folds  his  flock  upon  the  plain : 
Yet  if  thou  dar'st  not  hope,  thou  dost  not  love ! 

274  3 


Anna  Letitia  Barbauld. 


It  is  to  quench  thy  joy  in  tears, 

To  nurse  strano-e  doubts  and  orroundless  fears ! 
It   pangs  of  jealousy  thou  hast  not  proved  ; 

Though  she  were  fonder  and  more  true 

Than  any  N)mph  old  Poets  drew, 
O,  never  dream  again,  that  thou  hast  loved ! 


If  when  the  darling  Maid  is  gone, 

Thou  dost  not  seek  to  be  alone, 
Wrapped  in  a  pleasing  trance  of  tender  woe, 

And   muse,  and  fold  thy  languid  arms, 

Feeding  thy  fancy  on  her  charms  ; 
Thou  dost  not  love !     For  Love  is  nourished  so. 


If  any  hopes  thy  bosom  share 

But  those  that  Love  has  planted  there, 
Or  any  cares  but  his,  thy  breast  enthrall ; 

Thou  never  yet  his  power  hast  known ! 

Love  sits  on  a  despotic  throne ; 
And  reigns  a  tyrant,  if  he  reigns  at  all ! 

Now,  if  thou  art  so  lost  a  thing, 

Here  all  thy  tender  sorrows  bring, 
And  prove  whose  patience  longest  can  endure! 

We'll  strive  whose   Fancy  shall  be  lost 

In  dreams  of  fondest  Passion  most! 
i^'or  if  thou  thus  hast  loved,   O,  never  hope  a  cure  ! 

•r  2  275 


Anna  Letitia  Barbattld. 


Sylvia.  Leave  me,  simple  Shepherd!   leave  me! 
Drag  no  m,ore  a  hopeless  chain  ! 
I  cannot  like,  nor  would  deceive,  thee! 
Love  the  Maid  that  loves  again! 

CoRiN.    Though  more  gentle  Nymphs  surround  me,    % 
Kindly  pitying  what  I  feel ; 
Only  you  have  power  to  wound  me, 
Sylvia  !   only  you  can  heal ! 


Sylvia.  Corin  !  cease  this  idle  teasing ! 

Love  that  's  forced  is  harsh  and  sour  I 
If  tJie  Lover  be  displeasing, 
To  persist  disgusts  tlie  more ! 


Corin.    'Tis  in  vain,  in  vain  to  fly  me! 
Sylvia!   I  will  still  pursue! 
Twenty  thousand  times  deny  me, 
I  will  kneel  and  weep  anew! 


Sylvia.  Cupid  neer  shall  make  me  languish! 
I  was  born  averse  to  Love ! 
Lovers   sighs,  and  tears,  and  anguish 
Mirth  and  pastime  to  me  prove ! 


Anna  Letltia  Barbauld. 


CoRiN.    Still   I   vow,  with  patient  duty, 

Thus  to  meet  your  proudest  scorn ! 
You,  for  unrelenting  beauty ; 
I   for  constant  love  was  born ! 


But  the  Fates  had  not  consented ; 

Since  they  both  did  fickle  prove. 
Of  her  scorn,  the  Maid  repented ; 

And  the  Shepherd — of  his  love ! 


When  first,  upon  your  tender  cheek, 
I  saw  the  Morn  of  Beauty  break 

With  mild  and  cheering  beam, 
I   bowed  before  your  infant  shrine. 
The  earliest  sighs  you  had  were  mine ; 

And  you,  my  darling  theme! 


I  saw  you,  in  that  opening  Morn, 
For  Beauty's  boundless   Empire  born, 

And  first  confessed  your  sway  ; 
And  ere  your  thoughts,  devoid   of  art, 
Could  learn  the  value  of  a  heart, 
I   gave  my  heart  away  ! 

277 


Anna  Letitia  Barbauld. 


I   watched  the  dawn  of  every  grace, 
And  gazed  upon  that  Angel  face, 

While  yet  'twas  safe  to  gaze ; 
And  fondly  blessed  each  rising  charm, 
Nor  thought  such  innocence  could  harm 

The  peace  of  future  days. 


But  now,  despotic  o'er  the  plains 
The  awful  Noon  of  Beauty  reigns; 

And  kneeling  crowds  adore ! 
These  charms  arise  too  fiercely  bright 
Danger  and  death  attend  the  sight, 

And  I  must  hope  no  more! 


Thus,  to  the  rising  God  of  Day 
Their  early  vows  the  Persians  pay. 

And  bless  the  spreading  fire; 
Whose  glowing  chariot,  mounting  soon, 
Pours  on  their  head  the  burning  Noon, 

They  sicken  and  expire! 


278 


ynstice  Sir  T/ioinas  Buy/iet. 

The  mind  of  bright  Suky  's  a  jewel, 
Well  set  in  a  delicate  frame ; 

But  Annama  pleases  me  too  well, 
To  examine  what  causes  the  flame ! 

The  charms  of  sweet  Suky  inspire  me, 
Her  face,  shape,  and  wit,   I   adore  ; 

But  Annama's  smiling  eyes  fire  me, 
The  raptures  I  ne'er  felt  before ! 

The  one  every  act  is  so  good  in ; 

Each  word  and  each  look  I  approve ! 
The  other  so  smiles  on  a  sudden, 

I  only  know  this,  that  I  love ! 

His  measure  with  Suky  Time  loses, 
Hours  fly  like  the  minutes  away! 

If  Anna  her  presence  refuses. 

One  minute  appears  a  whole  day! 

To  music  when  Suky  light  bounds, 
My  fancy  too  dances  the  Hays! 

When  Annama's  spinet  resounds, 

I  feel,  on  my  heart-strings  she  plays ! 

One  sister  my  head  so  possess(;s, 

My  reason  with  her  would  take  part! 

The  other,  that  rebel  suppresses  ; 
And,  absolute,  reigns  in  my  heart ' 

279 


Anonymous. 


LINES 

ADDRESSED     BY   A    H  US  BAND     TO    HIS      TVlFE,    AFTER 

BEING    SIX    FEARS    MARRIED,    AND    SHARING    A    GREAT 

VARIETY    OF   FoRTUNE    TOGETHER. 

When  on  thy  bosom  I  recline, 
Enraptured  still  to  call  thee  mine, 

To  call  thee  mine  for  life ; 
I  glory  in  the  sacred  ties, 
Which  modern  Wits  and  fools  despise, 

Of  Husband  and  of  Wife! 

One  mutual  flame  inspires  our  bliss! 
The  tender  look,  the  melting  kiss, 

Even  years  have  not  destroyed! 
Some  sweet  sensation,  ever  new. 
Springs  up,  and  proves  the  maxim  true, 

Chaste  Love  can  neer  be  cloyed! 

Have  I  a  wish  ?     'Tis  all  for  thee ! 
Hast  thou  a  wnsh  ?     'Tis  all  for  me ! 

So  soft  our  moments  move ! 
What  numbers  look  with  ardent  gaze, 
Well  pleased  to  see  our  happy  days; 

And  bid  us,  live — and  love! 
280 


Anony^noiis. 


If  care  arise   (and  cares  will  come!), 
Thy  bosom  is  my  softest  home ! 

I   lull  me  there  to  rest ! 
And  is  there  aught  disturbs  my  Fair  ? 
I  bid  her,  sigh  out  all  her  care, 

And  lose  it  in  my  breast! 

Have  I  a  joy  ?     'Tis  all  her  own ! 
Or  hers  and  mine  are  all  but  one ! 

Our  hearts  are  so  intwined 
That,  like  the  ivy  round  the  tree, 
Bound  up  in  closest  amity, 

'Tis  death  to  be  disjoined  ! 


A   HAPPY  Husband. 


Edinburgh,  October  ii   [1773]. 


TRUE   BLUE. 

I   HOPE  there  's  no  Soul 

Met  over  this  bowl. 
But  means  honest  ends  to  pursue! 

With  the  voice,  go  the  heart! 

And  let  's  never  depart 
From   the  faith   of  an  honest   True   Blue  ! 

281 


Anonymous. 


For  country  and  friends, 

Let  us  scorn  private  ends, 
And  keep  old  British  virtue  in  view ! 

Despising  the  tribe 

Who  are  swayed  by  a  bribe; 
Be  honest,  and  ever  True  Blue ! 


On  the  politic  knave, 

Who  strives  to  enslave, 
Whose  schemes  the  whole  nation  may  rue ; 

On  Pension  and   Place, 

That  cursed  disgrace ; 
Turn  your  backs,  and  be  staunch !  be  True  Blue 


With  hounds  and  with  horn. 
We  will  rise  in  the  morn. 

With  vigour  the  fox  to  pursue ; 
'  Corruption '  's  the  cry. 
We  will  chase  till  we  die ! 

'Tis  worthy  a  British  True  Blue! 


Here  's  a  Health  to  all  those 
Who  do  slavery  oppose ; 

And  our  trade  both  defend  and  renew! 
To  each  honest  voice 
That  concurs  in  the  choice 

And  support  of  an  honest  True  Blue! 
282  


Robert  Fergus  son. 


ELEGY 
ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SCOTS  MUSIC. 

[Thursday,   March  5,   1772.] 

Mark  it.  CjESARIO  /    It  is  old  and  plain  f 

The  spinsters  and  the  Knitters  in  the  sun, 

And  the  free  Maids  thai  weave  their  thread  with  bones. 

Do  use  to  chant  it! 

Shakespeare,    Twelfth  Night. 

On  Scotia's  plains,  in  days  of  yore, 
WTien  Lads  and  Lasses  tartan  wore, 
Soft  Music  rang  in  ilka  shore 

In  hamely  weid  : 
But  Harmony  is  now  no  more; 

And  Music,  dead ! 

Round  her  the  feathered  choir  would  wing, 

Sae  bonnily  she  used  to  sing. 

And  sleely  wake  the  sleeping  string, 

Their  Sang  to  lead, 
Sweet  as  the  zephyrs  of  the  Spring : 

But  now  she  's  dead  ! 


Mourn,  ilka  Nymph,  and  ilka  Swain ! 

Ilk  sunny  hill  and  dowie  glen ! 

Let  weeping  streams  and   Naiads  drain 

Their  fountain-head ! 

Let  Echo  swell  the  dolefu'  strain  ; 

Since  Music    s  dead! 

283 


Robert  Fergusson. 


Whan  the  saft  vernal  breezes  ca' 
The  grey-haired  Winter's  fogs  awa, 
Naebody  then  is  heard  to  blaw 

Near  hill  or  mead, 
On  chaunter,  or  on  aiten  straw ; 

Since  Music  's  dead ! 


Nae  Lasses  now,  on  Simmer  days, 
Will  lilt  at  bleachin  of  their  claes! 
Nae  Herds,  on  Yarrow's  bonny  braes, 

Or  banks  of  Tweed, 
Delight  to  chant  their  hameil  Lays! 

Since  Music  's  dead ! 


At  gloming  now,  the  Bagpipe  *s  dumb, 
When  weary  owsen  hameward  come, 
Sae  sweetly  as  it  wont  to  bum, 

And  Pibrachs  skreed  ! 
We  never  hear  its  warlike  hum, 

For  Music  's  dead! 


Macgibbon  's  gone !     Ah !    wae  *s  my  heart ! 
The  man  in  Music  maist  expert! 
Wha  cou'd  sweet  harmony  impart; 

And  tune  the  reed 
Wi'  sic  a  slee  and  pawky  art  I 
But  now  he  *s  dead ! 
284 


Robert  Fergiisson. 


Ilk  Carline  now  may  grunt  and  grane 
Ilk  bonny  Lassie  make  great  mane! 
Since  he  's  awa',   I   trow  De'il  ane 

Can  fill  his  stead ! 
The  blythest  Sangster  on  the  plain ! 

Alake  !    he  's  dead ! 


Now  foreign  Sonnets  bear  the  gree, 

And  crabbit  queer  variety 

Of  sounds  fresh  sprung  from  Italy: 

A  bastard  breed ! 
Unlike  that  saft-tongued  Melody 

Which  now  lies  dead! 


Can  lav'rocks  at  the  dawning  day, 
Can  linties  chirming  frae  the  spray, 
Or  toddling  burns  that  smoothly  play 

O  er  gowden  bed, 
Compare  wi'  Birks  of  Indcrmay  ? 

But  now  they're  dead! 


O,  Scotland  I    that  cou'd  yence  afford 
To  bang  the  pith  of  Roman  sword, 
Winna  your  sons,  wi'  joint  accord, 

To  battle  speed ; 
And  fight  till  Music  be  restored  ? 

Which  now  lies  dead. 

j8= 


Robert  Fergusson. 


BRAID   CLAITH. 

[Thursday,  October  15,  1772.] 

Ye  wha  are  fain  to  hae  your  name 
Wrote  in  the  bonny  Book  of  Fame, 
Let  merit  nae  pretension  claim 

To  laurelled  wreath ! 
But  hap  ye  weel,  baith  back  and  wame, 

In  gude  Braid  Claith ! 


He  that  some  ells  o*  this  may  fa', 
An    slae-black  hat  on  pow  like  snaw. 
Bids  bauld  to  bear  the  gree  awa', 

Wi'  a'  this  graith, 
When  bienly  clad  wi'  shell  fu'  braw 

O'  gude  Braid  Claith. 


Waesuck  for  him  wha  has  na  fek  o't! 
For  he  's  a  gowk  they're  sure  to  geek  at ! 
A  chiel  that  ne'er  will  be  respekit 

While  he  draws  breath, 
Till  his  four  quarters  are  bedeckit 


Wi'  gude  Braid  Claith. 


286 


Robert  Fergusson. 


On  Sabbath  days,  the  Barber  Spark, 
Whan  he  has  done  wi'  scrapin  wark, 
Wi'  siller  broachie  in  his  sark, 

Gangs  trigly.  faith  ! 
Or  to  the  Meadow,  or  the  Park, 

In  gude  Braid  Claith. 


Weel  might  ye  trow,  to  see  them  there, 
That  they  to  shave  your  haffits  bare, 
Or  curl  an'  sleek  a  pickle  hair, 

Wou'd  be  right  laith, 
When  pacing,  wi'  a  gawsy  Air, 

In  gude  Braid  Claith. 


If  ony  mettled  stirrah  green 
For  favour  frae  a   Lady's  cin, 
He  maunna  care  for  being  seen 

Before  he  sheath 
His  body  in  a  scabbard  clean 

O'  gude  Braid  Claith! 


For,  gin  he  come  wi'  coat  threadbare, 
A  {Q.<g  for  him  she  winna  care ! 
But  crook  her  bonny  mou'  fu'  fair ; 

And  scald  him  baith ! 
Wooers  shou'd  ay  their  travel  spare, 

Without  Braid  Claith  ! 

287 


Robert  Fergusson. 


Braid  Claith  lends  fock  an  unco  heese ! 
Makes  mony  kail-worms  butterflies ! 
Gives  mony  a  Doctor  his  degrees 

For  little  skaith ! 
In  short,  you  may  be  what  you  please, 

Wi'  gude  Braid  Claith ! 

For  thof  ye  had  as  wise  a  snout  on 
As  Shakespeare,  or  Sir  Isaac  Newton; 
Your  judgement  fouk  woud  hae  a  doubt  on, 

I'll  tak  my  aith ! 
Till  they  cou'd  see  ye  wi'  a  suit  on 

O'  gude  Braid  Claith. 


THE    FARMER'S    INGLE. 

[Thursday,  May  13,  1773.] 

Et  multo  in  primis  hilarans  convivia  BACCHO, 

Ante  focMfi,  si  frigiis  erit. 

Virgil,   Bucolics. 

Whan  gloming  grey  out  o'er  the  welkin  keeks, 

Whan  Batie  ca's  his  owsen  to  the  byre. 
Whan  Thrasher  John,  fair  dung,  his  barndoor  steeks. 

And  lusty  Lasses  at  the  dighting  tire ; 
What  bangs  fu'  leal  the  e'enings  coming  cauld, 

And  gars  snaw-tapit  Winter  freeze  in  vain; 
Gars  dowie  mortals  look  baith  blyth  and  bauld. 

Nor  fley'd  wi'  a'  the  poortith  o'  the  plain  ; 

Begin,  my  Muse !    and  chant  in  hamely  strain ! 


200 


Robert  Fergiisson. 


Frae  the  big  stack,  weel  winnow  't  on  ihe  hill, 

Wi'  divets  theek  it  frae  the  weet  and  drift, 
Sods,   peats,  and  heath'ry  trufs  the  chimley  fill, 

And  gar  their  thick'ning  smeek  salute  the  lift ! 
The  Gudeman,  new  come  hame,  is  blyth  to  find. 

Whan  he  out  o'er  the  halland  flings  his  een. 
That   ilka  turn  is  handled  to  his  mind, 

That  a'  his  housie  looks  sae  cosh  and  clean ! 

For  cleanly  house  looes  he,  tho'  e'er  sae  mean ! 

Weel  kens  the  Gudewife  that  the  pleughs  require 
A  heartsome  meltith  and  refreshing  synd 

O'  nappy  liquor,   o'er  a  bleezing  fire ! 

Sair  wark  and  poortith  douna  weel  be  joined ! 

Wi'  butter'd  bannocks  now  the  girdle  reeks, 
r  the  far  nook  the  bowie  briskly  reams 

The  readied  kail  stand  by  the  chimley  cheeks 
And  had  the  riggin  het  wi'  welcome  steams, 
Whilk  than  the  daintiest  kitchen  nicer  seems. 

Frae  this,  lat  gentler  gabs  a  lesson  lear ! 

Wad  they  to  labouring  lend  an  eidant  hand. 
They'd  rax  fell  Strang  upo'  the  simplest  fare  ; 

Nor  find  their  stamacks  ever  at  a  stand ! 
Fu'  hale  and  healthy  wad  they  pass  the  day; 

At  night  in  calmest  slumbers  dose  fu'  sound  ! 
No  Doctor  need  their  weary  life  to  spae. 

Nor  drogs  their  noddle  and  their  sense  confound, 

Till  Death  slip  sleely  on, and  gi'e  the  hindmost  wounil. 

BRIT.   ANTII.   IS.  U  289 


Robert  Fergusson. 


On  sicken  food  has  mony  a  doughty  deed 

By  Caledonia's  ancestors  been  done ! 
By  this,  did  mony  wight  fu'  weirhke  bleed 

In  brulzies  frae  the  dawn  to  set  o'  sun ! 
'Twas  this,  that  braced  their  gardies,  stiff  and  Strang, 

That  bent  the  deidly  yew  in  antient  days ! 
Laid  Denmark's  daring  sons  on  yird  alang ! 

Gar'd  Scottish  thristles  bang  the  Roman  bays ; 

For,  near  our  crest,  their  heads  they  doughtna  raise! 


The  couthy  cracks  begin  whan  supper  's  o'er, 
The  cheering  bicker  gars  them  glibly  gash 

O'  Simmer's  showery  blinks  and  Winter's  sour, 
Whase  floods  did  erst  their  mailins  produce  hash. 

'Bout  Kirk  and  Market  eke  their  tales  gae  on  ; 
How  Jock  woo'd  Jenny  here,  to  be  his  Bride.  .  .  . 


The  Flent  a  chiep  's  amang  the  bairnies  now ; 

For  a'  their  anger  's  wi'  their  hunger  gane! 
Ay  maun  the  childer,  wi'  a  fastin  mou', 

Grumble  and  greet,  and  make  an  unco  m.ane. 
In  rangles  round  before  the  Ingle's  low. 

Frae  Gudame's  mouth,  Auld-Warld  Tale  they  hear, 
O'  Warlocks  louping  round  the  Wirrikow ; 

O'  gaists  that  win  in  Glen  and  Kirk-yard  drear ; 

Whilk   touzles   a'  their   tap,    and  gars    them   shak 

wi'  fear ! 
290 


Robert  Fergusson. 


For  weel  she  trows,  that  Fients  and  Fah'ies  be 

Sent  frae  the  De'il  to  fleetch  us  to  our  ill ! 
That  ky  hae  tint  their  milk  wi'  Evil  Eie ! 

And  corn  been  scowder'd  on  the  o-lowinof  kill ! 
O,  mock  na  this !    my  friends !    but  rather  mourn, 

Ye  in  Life's  brawest  Spring,  wi'  reason  clear! 
Wi'  Eild,  our  idle  fancies  a'  return 

And  dim  our  dolefu'  days  wi'  bairnly  fear ! 

The  mind  's  ay  cradled,  when  the  grave  is  near! 

Yet  Thrift,  industrious,  bides  her  latest  days ! 

Tho'  Age,  her  sair-dowed  front  wi'  runcles  wave, 
Yet  frae  the  russet  lap  the  Spindle  plays  I 

Her  e'enin  stent  reels  she  as  weel  's  the  lave ! 
On  some  Feast  Day,  the  wee  things  buskit  braw 

Shall  heeze  her  heart  up,  wi'  a  silent  joy! 
Fu'  cadgie  that  her  head  was  up  and  saw 

Her  ain-spun  cleething  on  a  darling  oy, 

Careless  tho'  Death  shou'd  make  the  Feast  her  foy- 

In  its  auld  lerroch  yet  the  deas  remains, 

Whare  the  Gudeman  aft  strceks  him  at  his  ease. 
A  warm  and  canny  lean  for  weary  banes 

O'  lab'rers  doil'd  upo'  the  wintr)-  leas. 
Round  him   will  badrins  and  the  colly  come 

To  wag  their  tail,  and  cast  a  thankfu'  eie 
To  him  wha  kindly  flings  them    niony  a   crum 

O'  kcbbock  whang'd,  and  dainty  fadge  to  prie. 

This  a'  the  boon  they  crave,  and   a'  the  fee ! 

u  a  291 


Robert  Fergusson. 


Frae  him,  the  Lads  their  morning  counsel  tak, 

What  stacks  he  wants  to  thrash,  what  rigs  to  till, 
How  big  a  birn  maun  lie  on  Bassie's  back, 

For  meal  and  multure  to  the  thirling  mill. 
Niest,  the  Gudewife,  her  hireling  damsels  bids 

Glowr  thro'  the  byre,  and  see  the  hawkies  bound; 
Take  tent  case  Crummy  tak  her  wonted  tids, 

And  ca'  the  leglin's  treasure  on  the  ground ; 

Whilk  spills  a  kebbuck  nice,  or  yellow  pound. 

Then  a'  the  house,  for  sleep  begin  to  grien, 
Their  joints  to  slack  frae  industry  a  while. 

The  leaden  God  fa's  heavy  on  their  ein, 

And  hafflins  steeks  them  frae  their  daily  toil. 

The  cruizy  too  can  only  blink  and  bleer. 
The  restit  Ingle  's  done  the  maist  it  dow. 

Tacksman  and  Cottar  eke  to  bed  maun  steer, 
Upo'  the  cod  to  clear  their  drumly  pow, 
Till  wauken'd  by  the  dawning's  ruddy  glow. 

Peace  to  the  Husbandman  and  a'  his  tribe ! 

Whase  care  fells  a'  our  wants  frae  year  to  year  ; 
Long  may  his  sock  and  couter  turn  the  gleyb, 

And  banks  o'  corn  bend  down  wi*  laded  ear ! 
May  Scotia's  Simmers  ay  look  gay  and  green ! 

Her  yellow  har'sts  frae  scowry  blasts  decreed  ; 
May  a   her  tenants  sit  fu'  snug  and  bien ! 

F""rae  the  hard  grip  of  ails  and  poortith  freed  ; 

And  a  lang  lasting  train  o'  peaceful  hours  succeed ! 
292  


Anony}}wus. 


THE  SAILORS  BALLAD. 

How  pleasant  a  Sailor's  life  passes, 

Who  roams  o'er  the  watery  Main ! 
No  treasure  he  ever  amasses ; 

But  cheerfully  spends  all  his  gain ! 
We're  strangers  to  Party  and  Faction, 

To  Honour  and  Honesty  true  ; 
And  would  not  commit  a  base  action 

For   Power,  or  Profit,  in  view ! 

Chorus.    Then,  why  should  we  quarrel  for  riches. 
Or  any  such  glittering  toy  ? 
A  light  heart  and  a  thin  pair  of  breeches 
Goes  through  the  world,  brave  Boy ! 


The  world   is  a  beautiful  garden 
Enriched  with  the  blessings  of  life : 

The  toiler,  with    Plenty  rewarding  ; 
Which   Plenty  too  often  breeds  strife. 

293 


Anonymous. 


When  terrible  tempests  assail  us, 
And  mountainous  billows  affright ; 

No  Grandeur,  or  Wealth,  can  avail  us; 
But  skilful  Industry  steers  right! 

Chorus.    Then,  why  should  we  quarrel  for  riches,  &c. 


The  Courtier  's  more  subject  to  dangers, 

Who  rules  at  the  helm  of  the  State; 
Than  we,  that,  to  politics  strangers, 

Escape  the  snares  laid  for  the  Great. 
The  various  blessings  of  Nature, 

In  various  nations  we  try : 
No  mortals  than  us  can  be  greater, 

Who  merrily  live  till  we  die ! 

Chorus.  Then,  why  should  we  quarrel  for  riches,  &c. 


THE  COUNTRY  WEDDING. 

'  Well  met,  pretty  Nymph  ! '   says  a  jolly  young  Swain 
To  a  beautiful  Shepherdess  crossing  the  plain, 
'  Why  so  much  in  haste  ? '    Now  the  month  it  was  May. 
'Shall  I  venture  to  ask  you,  fair  Maiden!   which  way?' 
Then  straight  to  this  question  the  Nymph  did  reply, 
With  a  smile  on  her  look  and  a  leer  in  her  eye, 
'  I  am  come  from  the  village,  and  homeward  I  go ; 
And  now,  gentle  Shepherd  !    pray,  why  would  you  know  ? ' 
294 


Anonymioiis. 


*  I  hope,  pretty  Maid  !   you  won't  take  it  amiss  ; 
If  I  tell  you  the  reason  of  asking  you  this. 
I  would  see  you  safe  home ! '     Now  the  Swain  was  in  love. 
'Of  such  a  companion  if  you  would  approve?' 
'  Your  offer,  kind  Shepherd  !    is  civil,  I  own  ; 
But  I  see  no  great  danger  in  going  alone  ! 
Nor  yet  can  I  hinder  ;    the  road  being  free 
For  one  as  another,  for  you  or  for  me  1 ' 


*  No  danger  in  going  alone,  it  is  true ; 
But  yet  a  companion  is  pleasanter  too ! 
And  if  you  could  like,*    Now  the  Swain,  he  took  heart. 
'Such  a  one  as  me,  Mistress  !    we  never  would   part!' 
'  O,  that  's  a  long  word ! '    said  the  Shepherdess  then, 
•  For  I've  often  heard  say,  "  There  's  no  minding  you  men  !  " 
You'll  say  and  unsay  ;   and  you'll  flatter,  'tis  true ! 
Then  leave  a  young  Maiden,  the  first  thing  you  do ! ' 


'  O.  judge  not  so  harshly  ! '    the  Shepherd  replied, 
•  For  to  prove  what  I  say,  I  will  make  you  my  Bride  ! 
To-morrow,  the  Parson  (well  said,  little  Swain!) 
Shall  join  both  our  hands,  and  make  one  of  us  twain! 
Then  what  the  Nymph  answered  to  this,  is  not  said  ; 
But  the  very  next  morn,  to  be  sure,  they  were  wed. 
Sing  Hey  diddle  !    Ho  diddle !    Hey  diddle  down ! 
Now,  when  shall  we  sec  such  a   Wedding  in  Town? 


295 


Charles  Dibdin. 


SONGS  FROM  'THE    WATERMAN: 

1774. 


And  did  you  not  hear  of  a  jolly  young  Waterman, 

Who  at  Blackfrlars  Bridge  used  for  to  ply  ? 
And  he  feathered  his  oars  with  such  skill  and  dexterity, 

Winning  each  heart,  and  delighting  each  eye. 
He  looked  so  neat,  and  rowed  so  steadily, 
The  Maidens  all  flocked  in  his  boat  so  readily; 
And  he  eyed  the  young  rogues  with  so  charming  an  Air, 
That  this  Waterman  ne'er  was  in  want  of  a  fare ! 


What  sights  of  fine  folks  he  oft  rowed  in  his  Wherry ! 

'Twas  cleaned  out  so  nice,  and  so  painted  withal. 
He  was  always  'first  oars!',  when  the  fine  City  Ladies, 

In  a  party,  to  Ranelagh  went,  or  Vauxhall. 
And  oftentimes  would  they  be  giggling  and  leering ; 
But  'twas  all  one  to  Tom,  their  gibing  and  jeering ! 
For  loving,  or  liking,  he  little  did  care. 
For  this  Waterman  ne'er  was  in  want  of  a  fare ! 
296 


Charles  Dibdin. 


And  yet  (but  to  see  how  strangely  things  happen  !) 
As  he  rowed  along,  thinking  of  nothing  at  all, 

He  was  plied  by  a  Damsel  so  lovely  and  charming, 
That  she  smiled :  and  so  straightway  in  love  he 
did  fall! 

And  would  this  young  Damsel  but  banish  his  sorrow ; 

He'd  wed  her  to-night,  before  to-morrow ! 

And  how  should  this  Waterman  ever  know  care, 

When  he  's  married,  and  never  in  want  of  a  fare  ? 


Then,  farewell,  my  trim-built  Wherry! 

Oars,  and  Coat,  and  Badge,  farewell 
Never  more  at  Chelsea  Ferry, 

Shall  your  Thomas  take  a  spell ! 


But,  to  Hope  and  Peace  a  stranger, 

In  the  battle's  heat  I  go! 
Where,  exposed  to  every  danger, 

Some  friendly  ball  may  lay  me  low ! 


Then,  mayhap,  when,  homeward  steering 
With  the  news  my  messmates  come. 

Even  you,  the  story  hearing, 

With  a  sigh,   may  cry,   '  Poor  Tom  ! ' 

297 


Richard  Rolt. 


MYRTILLA, 

Ye  cheerful  Virgins !   have  ye  seen 
My  fair  Myrtilla  pass  the  green 

To  rose,  or  jessamine,  bower? 
Where  does  she  seek  the  woodbine  shade  ? 
For,  sure,  you  know  the  blooming  Maid, 

Sweet  as  the  May-born  flower! 


Her  cheeks  are  like  the  blushing  rose, 
Joined  with  the  lily  as  it  grows; 

Where  each  alike  surprise. 
Like  the  bright  dewdrops  in  the  Morn, 
When  Phcebus  gilds  the  flow'ring  thorn, 

Health  sparkles  in  her  eyes! 


Her  Song  is  like  the  linnet's  Lay; 
That  warbles  sweetly  in  the  spray, 

To  hail  the  vernal  beam. 
Her  heart  is  Wither  than  her  Song! 
Her  Passions  gently  move  along, 

Like  the  smooth  gliding  stream. 


The  End  of  The  Goldsmith  Anthology. 
298 


FIRST  LINES  AND   NOTES. 


Many  of  these  Poems  became  immediately  popular ;  and  appeared  in  other  contemporarj' 
e<Jitions  than  those  here  quoted,  often  with  preat  variations  in  the  texts. 

All  the  Works  herein  quoted  were  published  in  London,  unless  otlierwise  stated. 

Where  a  text  is  found  associated  with  music,  (M.)  is  put  alter  its  date. 

Many  of  the  Songs  of  this  period  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  ]iook  of  the  Words  of  the  Play 
in  which  they  were  sung  :  but  were  separately  published  on  engraved  sheets  with  the  music  ; 
usaally  without  any  date,  or  place  of  publication,  which  however  was  London  in  most  cases. 
G.  306,  G.  378  a,  H.  ISO,  L  530,  &c.  are  the  Press-marks  of  the  Volumes  of  such  engraved 
Songs,  in  the  Music  Departinent  of  the  British  Museum,  from  which  the  present  texts  have 
been  taken. 


PAGE 

Adieu!  for  a  while,  to  the  town  ..     140 

L).  .Mallet.     Britannia,  1755. 
A  Grecian  Youth,  of  talents  rare  .    150 

W.  \\  HITF.HE.\U,  PL.       In   R.  DODS- 

I-EY"s  Collection,  A-c,  II,  1748. 
And  are  ye  sure,  the  news  is  true  ?    234 

Si-<-  But  are  you  sure,  the  news  is 
And  did  you  not  hear  of  a  jolly    ..     296 

C.  DlUblN.      'I lu  Waterman,  1774. 
Approach  in  silence  !    'Tis  no    257 

Nl.  Akensiue,  M.D.     Inscriptions  in 

I'oems.  177-'. 
A  Scholar  first  mv  love  implored  ,     16s 

U.    U  B [Lady    D.    Du    Bois]. 

Poems,  IJublin,  ]7('\- 
As  Nature  and  Garrick  were 181 

.\soN.     In  iXcu.'  Foundling  Hospital 
_for  Wit,  IV;  of  which  Six  Parts  were 

issuerl  between  iT^kj  and  1773. 

Asses'  milk,  half  a  pint,  take  at ... .      72 

P.  D.  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Che.stek- 

FIEi.ij.     In  R.  Dousi-EY's  Collection, 

f,c .  I.  174K. 
A  Templar  (who  loves  yon,  dear..     221) 

C  (Banning  th'-  Klder.     Poems,  1767. 
Attend,  all  ye  Nymphs  and  ye    ....     1.17 

-Aso.s.    (",.  v>''.    (M  ) 
At  Upton  on  the  Hill 258 

.\.S'()S      In  Calliope  II  [i7,v»|. 
Awake,  i£oIian  Lyre  !  awake    ....       gi 

T.  (jHay.    1757.    The  prevnt  text  and 

notes  are  from  his  Poenut,  ed.  by  W. 

Masoh,  York,  1775. 
Awake,  ye  drowsy  Swains  !    .^8 

.\.  IJkaulkv.    \\\  Musical  Miscellany, 

II,  172V.    (.M  ) 


Before  the  urchin  well  could  go  .. 
C.  U'V.HlillAM,  Mail  of  Iu;hkmont 
Cf.  y/>.  (.M.)  .Vulhorthip  fixed  by 
H.  Wai.WjI.E,  in  hi-.  Cat  of  nohfe 
Authori,  it!o6. 


\2^^ 


Behold !  my  brave  Britons,  the 

T.G.Smollett.  The  Reprisal,  1757. 

Behold,  my  Fair !  where'er  we  rove 
S.  Johnson,  LL.D.   W  orks,  XI,  1787. 

But  are  you  sure,  the  news  is  true? 
W.  J.  MiCKLE.  In  Scots  Songs,  ed. 
bvD.  Herd,  Edin.,  I7()q.  The  author- 
ship is  fixed  in  R.  H.  Cromek's  Select 
Scottish  Songs,  i8i(i;  who  prints 
MicKLE's  first  draft  of  this  Poem. 
The  gth  and  loth  stanzas,  here  bracket- 
ed, are  by  Dr.  jAMES  BeATTIE  ;  see 
C  R  0  SI  e  K  s  Select  Scottish  So  ngs,  1 8 1  o, 
I.  iQo:  and  were  ad<ied  after  1776. 

By  these  presents,  be  it  known 
H.     Walpole,     Earl     of    Okford. 
K'orks,  IV,  171J8. 


PAGE 


2.U 


>.';4 


Chloe,  coquet  and  debonair    105 

M.J  ones.     Miscellanies.  Oxf.,  17^0. 

Come,  cheer  up,  my  Lads  !  'tis  to       iW> 
In   L).  tiAKRICK's  Pantomime,  jVdr/^- 
yuin's    /nTasion,  produei-d  in   Dec, 
1759.    G.  307.     (M.) 

Come,  come,  my  good  Shepherds  I     rH? 
Florizel  and  I'erdita,  1758,  .-illir.d  by 
D.  Garrick  from  W.  Shakespeare's 
H  'inter's  J  ale. 

Come  here,  fond  Youth !  whoe'er 


A.  L  Harhai'LI).  f'oevts,  ud  I'M.,  1773. 
Come,  listen  to  my  mournful  Tale. 

W.  Shi'.nstoNE.      V\orks,  i7'i4. 
Consider,  dear  Dauehter  !  what 

Anon.     In  Muses'  JMidav[\7S7\ 


Daughter  sweet  of  Voice  and  Air  t 

.Anon.     G.  ^07.    (M.) 
Dear  Batchelour  I   I've  read  your  . 
.\  Kciss.   ■//;<•  horlutiale  Shepherdess, 
fiC,  Abetdeen,   I7ti8. 

299 


374 
4«' 

-'• 

224 


First  Lines  ajtd  Notes. 


PAGE 

Dear  Chloe !  what  means  this  160 

Poems  on  several  subjects  [by  J.  G. 

Cooper],  1764. 
Dear  Chloe !  while  the  busy  crowd    122 

N.  Cotton,  M.D.    In  R.  Dodsley's 

Collection^  \c.,  IV,  1755. 
Dear  Chloe  I  while  thus,  beyond  . .     162 

Anon.    In  Gentleman's Magazineior 

March,  1735. 


Early  one  morn,  a  jolly  brisk  Tar    271 

Anon.    G.  307.    (M.) 
Erst,  in  Cythera's  sacred  shade   . .     232 
Rt.   Hon.  Justice  Sir  J.  Marriott. 
Poems,  1760.    An  earlier  and  variant 
text  had  appeared  in  R.  Dodsley's 
Collection,  ^c,  IV,  1755. 


Fair  Hebe  I  left,  with  a  cautious  . .    226 

J.  West,   Earl    De  la  Warr.    In 

Clio  and  Euterpe,  I,  iT^i.     (M.) 
Far  in  the  windings  of  a  vale    142 

D.   Mallet.    Edwiti    and   Emma, 

Birmingham,  1760. 
Fervid  on  the  glitt'ring  flood 204 

J.  Cunningham.    Poems,  Newcastle, 

1771. 
Friend  of  my  heart !  by  fav'ring  . .     270 

J.  Scott.     Poetical  Works,  1782. 
FromLincolnto  London  rode  forth      39 

W.  Shenstone.     Works,  1764. 


Gay  Damon  long  studied,  my  heart    252 

Anon.    H.  1994.    (M.) 
'  Genteel  is  my  Damon,  engaging. .     i6g 

Queen     Charlotte     Sophia.      In 

Gentletnan's  Magazine  for    March, 

'76,';. 
Good  people  all,  of  every  sort   8 

O.  Goldsmith.     In    The    Vicar  of 

Wakejield,  1766. 
Guardian  Angels !  now  protectme !     52 

Anon.    G.  308.    (M.) 


Hail  I  beauteous  stranger  of  the . .     254 

Rev.  J.  Logan.     Poems,  1781. 
Henrietta's  serious  charms 153 

H.    Walpole,     Earl    of    Orford. 

Works,  IV,  1798. 
Here,  in  cool  grot  and  mossy  cell     45 

W.  Shenstone.    A   Description  of 

The  Leasowes\\\  Works,  2nd  Ed.,  1765. 
Her  sheep  had  in  clusters  crept    . .     207 

J.  Cunningham.     Poems,  Newcastle, 

1771. 
Hope,  thou  Nurse  of  young  Desire !    159 

I.  Bickerstaffe.    Love  in  a  Village, 

1763- 
How  blessed  has  my  time  been !  . .     131 

E.  Moore.    Poems,  ^c,  1756. 


page 
How  easy  was  Colin,  how  blithe  .    129 
I.  S.  H.    Written  in  1753.    In  R.  Dods- 
ley's Collection,  ^c,  "IV,  1755. 
How  fresh  does  the  morning 246 

C.  Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset.  In 
Nexu  Review,  III,  ed.  by  H.  Maty, 
1783. 

How  little  do  the  land-men  know  .    190 

D.  Garrick.  In  Capt.  E.Thompson's 
Pair  Quaker  of  Deal,  1773.     G.  303. 

How  pleasant  a  Sailor's  life  passes    293 

Anon.    G.  308.    (M.) 

How  sleep  the  Brave,  who  sink  to      58 
W.  Collins.    Odes,  1747.    This  Ode 
was  written    to   the   memory   of   the 
English  who  were  killed  at  the  Battle 
ofCulloden. 

How  stands  the  Glass  around  ?  . .      50 
Anon.    1. 530.    (M.) 

How  welcome,  my  Shepherd !  how    242 
Anon.  In       J.       F.       Lampe's 

Wit  musically  embellislud  [1730]. 
H.  1625  a.    (M.) 


I  am  a  Batchelor  winsome  222 

A.  Ross.  The  Fortunate  Shepherdess, 
^c,  Aberdeen,  1768. 

If  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  Pastoral     56 
W.  Collins.     This  is  the  earlier  text 
in   Odes,  1747.     A  revised  text  is  in 
R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  J^c,  I,  1748. 

If  doughty  deeds  my  Lady  please  .    264 
R.    Graham,    afterwards    Cunning- 
HAME-GrAHAM.      As  printed   in   Mr. 
F.  J.  Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury, 
cf-c,  Cambridge,  1861. 

If  from  the  lustre  of  the  sun   269 

Anon.     In  Musical  Miscellany,  1760. 

I  hope  there 's  no  Soul  281 

Anon.    G.  316.    (M.) 

I'm  lonesoirie,  since  I  crossed  the. .    120 
Anon.     As  printed  by  Mr.  W.  ChAP- 
pell  in   his  Popular  Music  of  the 
Olden  Time;   who  thought  that  this 
Song  was  written  about  1758. 

In  Britain's  Isle,  no  matter  where      86 
fT.  Gray.]  Designs,  by  Mr.  R.  Bent- 
ley,  for  Six  Poems  by  Mr.  T.  Gray. 

In  Georgia's  land,  where  Tiflis' 53 

W.  Collins.  Oriental  Eclogues,  1757. 
In  holiday  gown,  and  my  new  .  .\ .    200 

J.  Cunningham.    Poems,  Newcastle, 

1771. 
In  the  barn,  the  tenant  Cock 202 

J.  Cunningham.    Poems,  Newcastle, 

1771. 
In  vain,  with  nches  would  you  try    244 

C.  Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset.    In 

New  Review,  III,  ed.  by  H.  MATY, 


I78.V 
I  told  my  Nymph,  I  told  her  true  . . 

W.  Shenstone.     Works,  1764. 


44 


300 


First  Lines  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

It  was  a  Friar  of  Orders  Gray 17& 

T.  Pi.kCV,  B.rhup  of  UKOMOKt.  Re- 
liqius  of  Anci.nl  English  t'o^lry.  I, 
I7t)5.  This  Poftn  was  written  alter 
O  Goldsmith's  Edu-ard  and 
Angflir.a,  at  pp.  1-8. 

I'vj  heard  of  a  lilting,  at  our  ewes'     170 
J.Elliot.    N\'ritt<-n  ;ii  I7^^     \w  Scots 
i>ong\  fil.  by  D.  Hekd,  Edin.,  1709. 

I've  seen  the' smiling    17J 

A.CocKBLRN.  First  published  in  The 
Lark,  Vol.  I  (all  published),  Edin., 
1765.  The  present  text  i-s  from  Scots 
iiongs,  ed.  by  D.  Herd,  Edin.,  1709. 


Kitty's  charming  Voice  and  Face .    164 
Anon.  In  Dr.  J.  Aikin's  Vocal  Poetry, 
i8ia 


Leave,  Garrick  I  the  rich i8i 

\\'.  Pitt,  E^rl  of  Chatham.    In  Neyu 
Foundling   Hospital  /or    Wit,   VI, 

•r<>9-'77.^  ^     . 

Leave  me,  simple  Shepherd!  leave    2^b 

\.   L.    bAHBALLU.     Poems,  .^rd    Ed., 

177V 
Let  other  Bards  invoke  the  tuneful    247 

C.  SaCK\  ILLE,  iJukc  of  DOKSET.      In 

New  Review,  III,  ed.  by  H.  MATY, 

>7«V 
Let  the  Nymph  still  avoid,  and  be  .    i.^j 
T.    G.    Smollett.      The    Reprisal, 

Let  who  will,  complciin  of  the    —     166 

D.  D'B—  [Lady   D.   Uu    Boisl-     In 
London     Magazine    for     November, 

Life  nas  no  real  bliss  in  store  1  ....     i\i 
Poeins  by  a  Lady  [].  H.  FVE.,  1767. 


Mistaken  Fair!  lay 'Sherlock' by!      71 
P.  D    Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chester- 
field.    In  k.  DoDSLEY's  ColUawn, 
'ic,  1.  I74«. 

My  sheeo  I  neglected,  I  lost  my —     170 
Sir  G.  Elliot,  Hart.     7'he  Charmer, 
E<lin.,  lyo-    The  present  text  is  from 
the  ind  Ed.,  Ivlin.,  1752. 

My  temples,  with  clusters  of  grapes    1 19 
Ano.s.    G.  31U.    iM.) 


Nature  and  Fortune,  blithe  and —      74 

Ij'-.in     P     KLKTCIIKK        111    l<      iJous- 
LEV''!  Collection,  \c..  III.  174H. 

Near  Richmond's  bright  vales,  in  .     14<» 
11    Kki.lv.     M  .,r*j.  177K. 

No  glory  I  covet  I  no  riches  I a6j 

Rev.     i     l-iTZ(,KkAi.i>.      In    Gentle- 
man'* Maga:in*  for  June,  1750.   (M.) 


PACE 

No!  No!    'Tis  in  vain,  in  this    ....     JOa 

Rev.  T.   FiTZGEKAl.D.      Poeins,    Oxf., 
17.  L 

No  Nvmph  of  the  plain  I  can  find..     139 

H   Kelly.     If  ,  rks.  177S. 
Not  tlie  soft  sighs  of  vernal  gales  .     118 
S.Johnson,  LL.U.    Works, y>.\,  1787. 


O'er  the  heath,  the  heifer  strays  . .     205 
J.  Cunningham.    Poems,  Newcastle, 
1771. 

Of  old,  when  Scarron  his 25 

O.  Gul.USMlTH.  Pdstliumously  pub- 
lished in  1:74.  The  present  text  is 
from  an  edition  of  that  year,  With 
Explanatory  Notes,  f,c. 

Oft  I've  implored  the  Gods  in  vain    214 
Mrs.  —  Gkevii  le.     In  G.  Peakch's 
Collect. on,  »c     I,  1775. 

O,  how  could  1  venture  to  love  one      59 
Rev.   A    Webster,    U  D.     In    Scots 
Magazine  for  November,    1747.     Au- 
thorsliip     fix<d     in     W.     StENHOUSE, 
Iliusiraliotis,  ■'■  c,  E<lin.,  1853 

Old  Time  and  Pleasure,  on  a  day  .     168 

D.    D'B I  Lady    D.    Du    Bois]. 

Poems,  Dublin,  1764. 

O,  Nancy  !  wilt  tnou  go  with  me   ..     174 
T.  Pekcv,  Bishoii  of  Dko.moi'E      In 

R.  LOUSl.EY's  G7//^<-//C>/,  AC,  VI,  ITtsS. 

Once  more,  I  tune  the  vocal  shell ! .    i^'4 
D.  Gakkick.     G.  310.    (M.) 

On  Scotia's  plains,  in  days  of  —     283 
R     Fergusso.v.      In    II  cekly   Maga- 
zine, XV,  Edin  ,  1772 

On  the  brow  of  a  Hill  a  young 106 

M.  Jones.    Miscellanies,  Oxf.,  i7.'iO. 


'  Perhaps,  it  is  not  Love,'  said  I  .'.      48 

W.  Shenstone.     Hyr^.f,  17(14. 


Royal  Charlie 's  now  awa 36 

.\non.     \\\  Jacobite  Relics,  ^c,  ed.  by 
J.  Hogg,  Edin.,  1819,  1821. 


Shepherd  !  when  thou  seest  me    ..       77 

.A son.     (..  <ii      «.M  1 
Sick  of  the  VVorld,  fair  Delia  flew  .     141 

Anon.    G.  \\ i.    lM.) 
Sir  John  Cope  trode  the  North  ....       3J 

Anon.     Injacobile  Relics,  .>c.,  ed.  by 

I.  Hogg,  Ivlin.,  iXio,  i«2i. 
Sisters  of  the  tuneful  strain! 194 

I).  (.AKKK  K.        J  he   /lib, Ire,   1770. 

Soft  Rlept  the  sea  within  its  silver    233 
ki    Ili.ii  Juslir.   Sir  J.Makkidi  I      In 
J.  kEizEka  Choice,    U-,  V,    Vienna, 
1786. 

301 


First  Lines  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

Some  cry  up  Gunnersbury ! 66 

W.  PULTENEY,  Earl  of  Bath.  In 
Ne'w  Foundling  Hosptlal  for  Wit, 
IV,  1769-1773. 

Strephon's  sole  care  is,  how  to 261 

Anon.  In  B.  Wakefield's  Warbling 
Muses,  1749. 

Strephon !  when  thou  seest  me  fly  .     77 
Anon.    G.  311.    (M.) 

Swains!  1  hate  the  boist'rous  Fair    245 
C.  Sackville,  Duke,  of  Dorset.    In 
New  Review,  III,  ed.  by  H.  MATY, 
1783. 

Swains,  I  scorn  !  who,  nice  and  .,      78 
Anon.    G.  311.    (M.) 

Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  Village  .      10 
O.  Goldsmith.    Six  editions  appeared 
in  the  year  of  Publication,  1770.     The 
present  text  is  from  the  Fifth  of  these. 


'The  business  of  Woman,  dear 158 

H.  Walpole,  Earl  of  Orford. 
Works,  IV,  1798. 

The  Curfew  tolls  the  knell  of 99 

T.  Gray,  1749.  The  present  text  is 
from  his  Poems,  ed.  by  W.  Mason, 
York,  1775. 

The  day  is  departed ;  and  round. .    256 
Rev.  J.  Logan.     Poems,  1781. 

The  dews  of  summer  night  did  fall  2^7 
W.  J.  MiCKLE.  In  Old  Ballads,  ^c, 
IV,  ed.  by  T.Evans.  London,  1784. 
This  Poem  suggested  Kenilworth 
(182 1)  to  Sir  W.  Scott  :  see  his  Intro- 
duction  thereto  (1831);  which  also 
fixes  the  authorship  of  this  Ballad. 

The  mind  of  bright  Suky 's  a  jewel    279 
Justice  Sir  T.  Burnet.    In  J.  Nichols' 
Select  Collection,  ^-c,  VI,  1786. 

The  morning  cloud  was  tinged 198 

Anon.  In  Clio  and  Euterpe,  I,  i7=;8. 
(M.) 

The  morning  is  charming,  all    62 

C.  L.,  Esquire.  In  Gentleman's 
Magazine  ioT  Masch,  1747.     (M.) 

The  Muse  and  the  Hero  together..      63 
Anon.    G.  312.    (M.) 

The  Muses,  quite  jaded  with  68 

W.  PULTENEY,  Earl  of  Bath,  and 
P.  D.  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chester- 
field. In  New  Foundling  Hospital 
for  Wit,  V,  1769-1773. 

Then,  farewell,  my  trim-built 297 

C.  DIBDIN.     The  Vi'^aternian,  1774. 

There  was  a  jolly  Miller  once    ....     159 
I.  Bickerstaffe.    Love  in  a  Village, 

^'763- 

The  shape  and  face  let  others  253 

Anon.  In  Amaryllis,  II  [1749I. 
Attributed  by  RiTSON  to  M.  Aken- 
SIDE,  M.  D.  ;  but  it  is  not  in  his 
Poems,  1772. 

The  silver  moon's  enamoured 199 

J.  Cunningham.    Poems,  Newcastle, 

1771- 


PAGE 

The  smiling  Morn,  the  breathing  . .     147 

The    first     two    stanzas     are    by    D. 

Mallet,    and   first   appeared    in   W. 

Thomson's  Orpheus  Ciiledonins,  2nd 

Ed.,  1733.    (M.)   The  last  three  stanzas, 

here   bracketed,  first  appeared   in  A. 

Ramsay's   Tea  Table  Miscellany,  IV, 

loth    Ed.,    1740 ;    and   are   attributed 

to    Rev.    A.    Bryce,    by    W.    Sten- 

hOUSE,  in  his  Illustrations,  <Sc.,  Edin., 

1853- 
The  western  sky  was  purpled  o'er     46 

W.  Shenstone.     Works,  1764. 
The  Women  all  tell  me,  I'm  false     60 

Anon.    In  Clio  and  Euterpe,  I,  1758. 

(M.) 
They  tell  me.  That  Phillis  is  267 

T.  Joel.    Poems,  2nd  Ed  ,  177=;. 
Thirsis,  a  kind  and  artless  Youth  266 

T.  Joel.    Poetns,  2nd  Ed.,  1775. 
Though  his  Passion  in  silence  the    161 

Anon.     In  Vocal  Music,  II  [1772]. 
Though  I'm  sUm,  and  am  young  . .    188 

D.  Gar  RICK.     In  London  Magazine 

for  September,  1779. 
Though  that  face,  matchless 138 

H.  Kelly.     Works,  1778. 
Thou  soft-flowing  Avon,  by  thy  ..     196 

D.  Garrick  (1769).    Poetical  Works, 

I,  i78.=;- 

Thy  fatal  shafts  unerring  move  !  .    132 
T.    G.    Smollett.       In    Clio    and 
Euterpe,  I,  1758.     (M.) 

'Tis  a  twelvemonth  ago,  nay!   173 

Anon.     In  Muses'  Holiday  [1757]. 

To  fix  her '.  'Twere  a  task  as  vain    134 
T.  G.  Smollett.    Works,  III,  Edin., 
1790. 

To  many  a  Kitty,  Love  his  car 158 

H.  Walpole,  Earl  of  Orford. 
Works,  IV,  1798. 

Tom  loves  Mary  passing  well  210 

Anon.    1. 530.    (M.) 

To  woo  me,  and  win  me,  and  kiss    109 
S.  Boyce.    G.  312.  (M.) 

Turn,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  dale !  . . 
O.  Goldsmith.  Privately  printed  in 
1764.  First  published  in  1  he  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  \x\  1766,  with  the  text  here 
given.  Afterwards  greatly  altered  by 
Goldsmith.  This  Poem  was  written 
before  the  somewhat  similar  one  by 
Bishop  T.  Percy,  that  will  be  found  at 
pp.  176-180. 

'Twas  on  a  loftv  vase's  side 80 

T.  Gray.  In  R.  Dodsley's  Collec- 
tion, l^-c,  II,  1748. 

'Twas  on  a  Monday  morning 32 

Anon.  In  facobite  Relics,  ^c,  ed.  by 
J.  Hogg,  Edin.,  1819,  1821. 

'Twas  when  the  winds  were   230 

Rt.  Hon.  Justice  Sir  J.  Marriott. 
Poeftts,  1760.  This  Poem  had  previ- 
ously appeared  in  R.  Dodsley's  Col- 
lecHon,  ^c,  VI,  1758. 


302 


First  Lines  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

Vain  are  the  charms  of  white  and      65 
W.    PrLTENEV,    E:\rl   of   BatH.       In 
New  FjuiidliHg  Hospital  for  W'il, 
rV,  1 769-1 773. 


'  Well  met,  pretty  Nymph ! '  says  a    394 

AnOS.    In  J-  Ho\VAKb's^l///.t/M/C'i3/«- 
^pav.ion      ^.M.l 
Whan  gloming  grey  out  o'er  the. .     288 

R.  Ferglssox.     \\'uk!y  Magazine^ 

XX,  EJ  n  ,  177^ 
What  a  rout  do  yon  make  for  a  157 

H.    Wai.pole.     Karl     of    Okfokd. 

Wrrks,  IV.  1798. 

What  lives  are  so  happy  as  those    272 

Anon.    ti.  31?.    (M.) 
Wha  wadna  fight  for  Charlie  ?.. ..      31 

Axon.     \n  Jacobiu  Relics,  ^yc-,  ed.  by 

(.  Hogg,  Edm.,  1810,  i8.m. 
When  Britain,  on  her  sea-girt  —     259 

Asos.    G.  8<x).    (M.)    Set  to  music 

bv  Dr.  T.  A.  Arse. 
Wben  Damon  met  Phillis  first  on. .     tu 

S.  BOYCE.     1. 530.     (M.) 
When  Fanny  blooming  fair    70 

P.  D.  Staxhoi'E,   Earl  of  Chester- 

FIELU.     In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection, 

\c.,  I,  174.S. 
When  first,  by  fond  Damon     209 

Anon.      In    London    Magazine    for 

Tulv,  1740.     (M.) 
When  first,  upon  your  tender    —     J77 

A.  L.   BakbaI'LU.      rot-»is,  jrd  Ed., 

'77<- 
When  Learning's  triumph  o  er  her     112 

S.  Johnson,  LL.D.  1747.  The  present 

text  is  from  his   U'or/:s,  XI,  17^7. 
When  Molly  smiles,  beneath  her. .     243 

Anon.    In  Gcntlentati's  i\faga=i>ieioT 

I)cr.,  17^2. 
When  on  thy  bosom  I  recline    —     280 

Anon.     In  Weekly  j\faga:ine,  XXII, 

Edin.,    1773.     This   is   the  Poem   that 

I.  LakpkaIK  altered  for  the  worse. 
When  Peleus' son,  untaught  to  i8< 

IV    (".ARKICK.      In    AVa'    Foundling 

Hm:pilat  for   W'il,  VI,  I7'')9-I77v 
When  Sappho  tuned  the  raptured     132 

T.  (,.  Smollett.     In  Dr.  J.  Aikin\ 

Vocal  I'oetry,  iKio 
When  the  rough  North  forgets  to    m6 

T.  G.  Smollett.   Works,  III,  Edin., 

1790. 
When  the  nheep  are  in  the  fauld        248 

E.i'lv  \    Maknaki)      NN'rittiri  in  1772. 

In    <icnltiih  Songs,  cd.  by  D.   Heku, 

2nd  E<1.,  Edin.,  1776. 


Where  silver  Thames,  round     .... 

H.     Walpoi.e,     Earl     ol     Okforu. 

Works,  IV,  i7.>S 
While.  t:trepl.6n!   thus  you  tease 

A.     WlllSTI.EK.       In     K.    "DOUSLEY's 

Collection,  i\<-,  IV,  1755. 
Who  has  e'er  been  at  Baldock  ... 

Anon.   In  Clio  and  Euterpe,  II,  17S9. 

(M.) 
Why  asks  my  friend.  What  cheers 

).  Scott.     J'celujl  Works,  178.'. 
'  Why,  Delia  1  ever  when  I  gaze  — 

Anon.  In  London  A/agazine \or  June, 

174S.    (M.i 
Without  preamble,  to  my  friend  . . 

I.  Howard,  Countess  of  Carlisle. 

In  G.  Fic..\RCH's  Collectii  n,  ac  ,  I,  177.";. 
Wit,  Love,  and  Reputation  walked 

G.  A.  Sti  \  ENS.     Snn,(s,  0\( ,  1772. 
Would  you,  with  her  you  love  be.. 

S.  M.  Gibber.     I'/ie  Oracle,  1763. 


PAGE 
"56 

I2« 

"07 
270 


217 


250 
7.< 


Ye  Belles  !   and  ye  Flirts !   and  ye     149 

W.Whitehead.P.L.  In R. Dodsley's 

Collection,  \c.,  IV,  1755. 
Ye  cheerful  Virgins !  have  ye  seen    298 

R.  RoLT.     Select  Pieces,  1772. 
Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique 82 

T.  Gray.     The  original  sixpenny  folio 

issue  of  1747. 
Ye  fair  married  Dames!  who  so  ..     184 

D  Garrick.     In  A.  Mlri'HY's  Tlie 

Way  to  keep  liini,  t-(n>.    H.  no.   (M.) 
Ye  Maids,  who  Britain's  Court 227 

J.   West,    Earl   De    la   Wark.     In 

Gentleman's  Magazine  for  .April,  1 766. 
Ye  patriot  crowds,  who  burn  for..     ii(> 

S.Johnson,  LL.D.  The  orijjinal  folio 

issue  of  1750. 
Yes!    Fulvia  is  Uke  Venus  fair  !..      49 

W.  Shenstone.     Works,  17(14. 
Yes,  I'm  in  love!    1  feel  it  now  —     152 

W.\Vhiteheau,P.L.  In R. Dodsley's 

Collection,  /\c..  II,  1748. 
Ye  Warwicksnire  Lads,  and  ye    ..     191 

D.  Garimck.      The  Ju! ilee,  1770. 

Ye  wha  are  fain  to  hae  your  name    2W) 

R.  Fl'RGl'SSON.   In  Weekly  Magazine, 

XVIII,  E<lin.,  T772.     Thi- III rscnt  text 

is  from /^cwj,  Edin.,  1773. 
Young  Colin,  fishing  near  the  Mill    268 

Anon.     In  J.  Baildon's  Laurel,  II. 

(M.) 
Young  Colin  protests,  I'm  his  joy  .    i  w 

S.  Boyck.     i7';4.     ^''   V^n     '''^'•' 
Young  Daphne  was  the  prettiest ..     i<>K 

S.  Hove  E.      1754.     C,.  ,7Ka.     (M.) 
You  tell  me,  I'm  handHome,  I i.<'> 

E.  MoOKE.     Poems,  \c.,  i75'>. 


303 


GLOSSARY  AND   INDEX. 


A  or  A',  ,^5,  37,  171.  &c.,  all. 

Abbas,  Shah  of  Persia,  54,  55. 

A-ra  iW.  Collins),  52-55' 

Ae,  224,  225,  249,  &c.,  one. 

Th'  Mgean  deep,  96. 

Afore,  222,  before. 

Africa,  i^- 

Aft,  291,  later,  after. 

Ails,  222,  is  the  matter  with. 

Ain,  35,  37,  &c.,  own. 

Ain-spu  1  clesthing,  291, 
own-spun  clothing. 

Aiten,  284,  oaten. 

Aith,  288,  oath. 

Akeuside,  ivI.D.;  M.,  257. 

Alake!  285,  alack. 

Albion,  97. 

AJtama  [  =  Altamaha],  21,  a 
river  in  Georgia,  U.S.A. 

Altho',  225,  althoujjh. 

Amanda  (D   Mallet),  147. 

Amang,  290,  among. 

Amynta  (SirG.  Elliot,  Bart.), 
170 

An',  222,  224,  225,  &c.,  and. 

An,  And,  34,  if. 

Ance,  171,  once. 

Ancient  Pistol  (W.  Shake- 
speare), 195,   Ensign  Pistol, 

Ane,  171,  one 

Angelina (O  Goldsmith),  1-8. 

Ann(T  G.  Smollett),  136. 

Anna,  Annama  [Craddock], 

Antient,  290,  ancient. 

Arion,  230,  231. 

At,  224,  against. 

Auburn  (O.  Goldsmith),  10- 
21,  primarily  intended  for 
Goldsmith's  birthplace,  Lis- 
soy,  Co.  Westmeath,  in  Ire- 
land; which,  from  this  very 
Poem,  is  now  called  Auburn  : 
but  meant  by  him  to  stand 
for  any  English  village. 
Goldsmith  thought  that  the 
incessant  migration  from  the 
villages  to  large  towns  was 
a  national  evil:  and  this 
Poem  is  the  full  expression 
of  that  opinion. 

TA£  Deserted  Village  is  a 
picture  of  an  Old  World  lite, 
beautifully  told. 

Auguste,  39. 

Auld,  248,  249,  old. 

Auld-Warld  tale,  290,  Old 
World  tale. 


The       Warwickshire       river 

Avon,  46,  48,  97,  193,  194, 

196. 
Avona's  bank,  46,  the  Avon. 
Awa  or  Awa',  36,  234,  248, 

284,  &c.,  away. 
Ay  (Scotch),  171,  222,  287,  &c., 

ever. 


The  back  o'  the  gate,  35, 
to  turn  a  man  out  of  doors. 

Bacon,  Viscount  St.  Al- 
ba.is;  F.,  156. 

Badrins  [=  baudrins],  291, 
cats. 

Bairnies,  290,  children. 

Bairaly,  291,  chiMish. 

Baith,  2. '3,  235,  248,  &c.,  both. 

Baldock,  Hertfordshire,  197. 

Banes,  291,  bones. 

Bang,  285,  2go,  defeat,  worst. 

Bannucks,  289,  bread,  made 
in  a  round  and  flat  shape. 

The  bansters,  171,  the  bind- 
ers up  of  sheaves. 

Barbauld,  A.  L.,  274-278. 

Barnard,  Bishop  T?.,  25,  26. 

Barnard,  Lady  A.,  248,  249. 

Bassie,  292,  the  farm  horse. 

Batchleour,  224,  bachelor. 

Batie  [Bat  =  Bartholomew] 
(R.  Fergusson),  288. 

Banks  o'  corn,  292,  ridges 
of  land  growing  corn. 

Bauld,  286,  288,  bold. 

Beauclerk,  Miss,  227. 

Beaumont,  F.,  30,  176. 

Beaumonts,  30,  F.  Beau- 
mont (see  Vol.  IV,  196-20.S), 
and  Dramatists  like  him. 

Bedeckit,  286,  covered, 
adorned. 

Behn,  Mrs.  A.,  113. 

Behns,  1 13,  Mrs.  A.  Behn  (see 
Vol.  Vil,  156-162),  and 
Dramatists  like  her. 

Bell  [=  Isabelln]  (.Anon.),  210. 

BelmouriH.  Kellv),  140. 

Old  Ben,  IQ2,  B.  Jonson. 

Bens,  30,  B.  Jonson  (see  Vol. 
IV,  214-222;  and  Vol.  V,  i- 
3o),and  Dramatists  like  him. 

Berwickers,  35,  the  people 
of  Berwick-upon-Tweed. 

Betty  (Anon.),  272,  the  Lady's 
Maid. 


Bickerstaflfe,  L,  159. 

Bides,   291,    abides 

Bien  [-  bene,  be'n],  292, 
wealthy,  comlortable. 

Bicnly,  286,  warmly. 

Bigonet,  235,  a  linen  cap  or 
coif. 

Billet,  224,  letter. 

Blrken  tree,  37,  birch-tree. 

Birks,  147,  148,  285,  the  birch- 
trees. 

Birnam  Wood,  195. 

Birn,  292,  burden. 

Bishop-satin  jjosvn,  235. 

Blackbird,  37,  148,  a  "thrush. 

Blackfriars  Bridge,  Lon- 
don, 296. 

Blate,  35,  bashful,  diffident. 

Blaun  by,  236,  blown  by. 

Blaw,  284,  blow. 

Bleachin  of  their  claes, 
284,  whitening  of  their 
washed^  clothes  by  exposure 
to  sunlight. 

Blear,  292,  become  dim. 

Bleezing,  289,  blazing. 

Blink,  292,  flicker. 

Showery  blinks,29o,flashes  of 
sunlight  between  the  show- 
ers. 

Blyth,  171,  28a,  &c.,  blithe. 

Blythest,  285,  bliihest. 

At  bogle  [  =  barley- bracks] 
to  play,  171,  a  game  where- 
in one  hunts  others  round 
the  corn  stacks. 

Bolingbroke  —  see  Saint 
John,  H. 

Bonnily,  283,  beautifully. 

Bonny,  172,  285,  287,  &c., 
pltasant,  gladsome,  comely. 

The  Border,  171,  between 
England  and  Scotland. 

Boscawen,  Miss,  227. 

Bosworth  Field,  195. 

Boughts,  222,  pens  for  con- 
fining ewes  at  milking  time. 

Bower,  A.,  28. 

Bowie,  289,  a  wooden  milk- 
bowl. 

The  Box,  39,  at  the  theatre. 

Boyce,  S.,  io8-iii. 

Bradley,  A.,  38. 

Braes,  284,  banks. 

Ever  brag,  193,  spirited, 
lively. 

Braggart  Knight,  195,  Sir 
J.  Falstatf. 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Braid      Cloth     [=      Broad 

Clotii],  j.S;-j89,  fine   black. 

woollen  cloth. 
Brak,  36,  brake. 
Braw,  171,  235,  286,  291,  &c., 

t)rave,  fine. 
Brawls,  86,   French  dances 

likf  a  Cotillon. 
Brawl V,  M.  finely. 
\\  ith  brede  ethereal  ^ove, 

50,  intorwoven  with  chanjje- 

able  colours. 
Bremen,  08. 
Bricker     [=    bicker],     290, 

wr.-'nglin^  altercation. 
Brighton  Camp,  uo. 
Bristol— set-  Hervey,  J. 
Britain,  63,  Kf),  ^59,  jOo. 
Britain's  Court,  227-221;. 
British  nation,  211. 
British  oak,  135. 
Britons,  135,  146,  186,  &c. 
Broachie,  287,  a  brooch. 
Bruce,  R.,  31. 
Brulzies,  290,  broils,  fights. 
Brussels,  186. 
Bryce,  Rev.  A.,  148. 
Buckle   wi*  me,   223,    unite 

uith,  marry,  me. 
Bughts,  171I  s.t-  Bougbts. 
Bum,  284,  hum,  boom. 
Burke,  M.P.;  Rt.  Hon.  E., 

25-27. 
Burke,  R.,  25,  27. 
Burke,  M.P.;  W.,  25,  27. 
Burnet,  Justice  Sir  T.,  270. 
Buskit     braw,    291,     finely 

dr<  sse<l. 
Butter'd,  281),  buttered. 
Byre,  222,  292,  a  cow-house. 


C,  G.,  221.  G.  Canning. 

C-e,  75 

Ca',  225,  284,  call. 

Ca",  2y2.  cast. 

Ca'd,  222,  called. 

Fu"  cadgie,  291,  very  glad. 

Ca's,  2.8X.  calls. 

Caelia  (W.  Whitehead,  P.  L  ), 

152. 
CoDsario  (W.   Shakespeare), 

Caledonia,  290. 

1  li>-    Can,   190,    the    wooden 

dfinking  can. 
Canning  the  Elder;  G.,  mo, 

221.  • 

Canny  lean,  391,  soft  rest. 
Can't,  26,  3t»,  Ike,  cannot. 
Capuchine,  87,  a  cloak  and 

h'H>'i . 
Car,  Lord  M.,  3.';. 
Carena,  3.\>,  1  .ire  not. 
Carliiic,  .  •      .in  old  woman. 

C/IHC,    J- 1^     in    '  A%K. 

Cauld,  171,  236,  &c.,  cold. 

HHIT.    ANTH.    IX. 


*.?''. 


of 


Cauler  [=    caller]  air, 

fresh,  cool,  air. 
Celadon  (.\non.>,  161. 
Celia  i.-Vnon.),  161,  253. 
Cestus,    71,     the    girdle 

Vrnu.s. 

A  Chair,  273,  a  sedan  chair. 
The  chap  [=  customer].  225, 

fellow,      lad  ;      applieil      in 

Scotch  to  women. 
Charles  II.  Kinj;,  113. 
Charles    Edward    Stuart, 

the        youn^j         Pretender ; 

Prince,  3i-3;. 
Charlotte  Sophia,  Queen 

Consort   of  George  III, 

l<x),  227. 

Chaucer,  G.,  96. 
Chaunter   [=  chanter],  284, 

that  pipe  of  a  bappipe,  with 

finger   holes,    on    which   the 

melody  is  played. 
Chear,  172,  cheer. 
Chelsea  Ferry,  London,  207. 
Chesterfield— see  Stanhope. 
Thr    young    Chevalier    St. 

George,  32,  Prince  Charles 

Edward  Stuart. 
A  chiel  [  =  child],  286,  a  young 

man. 
A  chiep  [  =  cheep]  is,  290, 

is  frequent. 
Childer,  290,  children. 
Chili,  96. 

Chimley,  289,  chimney. 
Chimley    cheeks,  280,    the 

stone  pillars  at  the  side  of  a 

fire. 
Chinning,  285,  chirping. 
Chiswick  House,  Chiswick, 

London,  6<j. 
Chloe   (Anon.),    60,  61,    162, 

Chloe  (S.  Boycf),  lit. 
Chloe  (A.  Bradley),  38. 
Chloe  (J.  G.  Cooper),  160. 
Chloe  (N.  Cotton,  M.D.),  122- 

'2.5- 

Chloe  (T.  Joel),  266. 
Chloe  (M   Jones),  105. 
Chloe  (H.  Walpole,  Earl  of 

Orford),  i';8. 
Chlorisfl.  S.  H.I,  129. 
Cibber,  P.L. ;  C,  75. 
Cibber,  S.  M.,  73. 
In    circulating    gold,    117, 

gold  mcd.ils. 

Cils,  262,  citi/ins  of  Lonilon, 

Claes,  384,  clothes. 

ClarindafH.  Kelly),  140, 

Clcething,  21^1.  clothing. 

Clermont  Park,  li^her  67. 

Clive.  the  Aetress:  Kitty 
[  (  atharinr],  ^(),  (><>,  wliow 
eott.iijc  at  'leddington  \\:\* 
called  Littl<-  Strawberry 
Hill. 


,  Cloe  (Anon.),  269. 
[  Cloe  (E.  Moorei,  130. 

Cloe  (C.  SackvillJ,    Duke   of 
j       Dorset),  247. 

The  Clown,  197,  rustic. 
i  CobbEun,  Viscountess— si-e 
I      Temple,  A. 

Cockburn,  A.,  172. 

Cocky,  225,  vain,  conceited. 
I  Cod,  292,  pillow. 
!  Colin  (Anon),  198,  268,  269. 

Colin  (S.  Boyce),  109,  iia 

Colin  (J  .  Cunningham),  203. 

Colin  (D.  Garrick),  195. 

Colin  (1.  S.  H.),  129. 

Colin  (W.  J.  Mickle),  234- 
236. 

Collins,  W.,  53-58. 

The  colly,  291,  the  shepherd's 
doj'. 

Conaescending,  222,  agree- 
ing. 

Congreve,  W.,  192. 

Conj'rer,  91,  conjurer. 

Content  [=  Good  Nature] 
(.\non.),  137. 

Cooper,  J.  G.,  ifio. 
Cooper's  Hill.  Staines,  67. 
Cope,  General  Sir  J.,  33-35. 
Corin  (\.  L.  Barbauld),  276, 

Correggio,  A.  A.,  30. 

Corydon  (J.  Cunningham), 
207,  208. 

Cosh,  28<),  snug,  comfortable. 

Cot,  198,  cottage. 
I  Cottar,  292,  cottager. 
I  Cotton,  M.D. ;  N.,  122-125. 

Cou'd,  284,  285,  {^C.,  couli 

Coudna,  248,  could  not. 

Couter,  292,  thr;  coulter  of  a 
pliiugh. 

Couthy  cracks,  290.  pleasant 
talks,  chats. 

Cowley,  A.,  98. 

Crabbit,  285,  intricate. 

Cracks,  2<)<),  talks,  chats. 

Cranshaks,  223,  crooked, 
distorted,  persons. 

Crest,  290,  ridge  of  a  moun- 
tain. 

Some  Cromwell,  loi. 

Crook  her  .  .  .  mou',  287, 
distort  her  mouth  with  dis- 
pleasure. 

A  crown,  248,  a  silver  coin  of 
the  value  of  55. 

Crulzy,  292,  a  small  iron 
lamp,  or  candlestick. 

Cnim  I  --  crumb  ,  291,  a 
small  particle  o(  lixxl. 

Crummy,  2.J2,  the  farm  cow. 

Cud,  221,  22";    eould. 

Cumberland.  R.,  2<;,  27,  28. 
Cumnor     Hall,     llerkOilrr. 

217  -14' 
Cunningham,  J.,  i<w-3oH. 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Curfew,  99,  a  bell  rung  at  a 
fixed  hour  in  the  evenin? ; 
usually  eight  or  nine  o'clock. 

Curll,  E.,  69. 

Cynthia  (S.  M.  Gibber),  73. 


Dafifin,  171.  frolicking. 

Damon  (Anon.),  141,  198, 
209,  252. 

Damon  (S.  Boyce),  iii. 

Damon  (A.  Bradley),  38. 

Damon  [-  King  George  III] 
(Queen  Gharlotte),  169. 

Damon  (Lady  D.  Du  Bois), 
165. 

Damon  (T.  Joel),  267. 

Damon  (J.  H   Pye),  213. 

Dante  Alighieri,  96. 

Daphne  (S.  Boyce),  io8,  109. 

Olcf  Darby  (Anon.),  163. 

Darena,  249,  dare  not. 

Daur,  34,  dare. 

Daurna,  33,  dare  not. 

Dawson,  J.,  40-43. 

Dawty,  222,  darling. 

Dead,  26,  those  so  intoxicated 
as  to  fall  under  the  table. 
See  Vol.  VIII,  37,  where 
this  term  is  applied  10  e  npty 
bottlesalso  lying  on  the  floor. 

Deal,  Kent,  190. 

Deas,  291,  a  long  wooden 
settle,  or  sofa,  in  the 
kitchens  of  Scotch  farm- 
houses. 

Death,  Captain,  63,  64. 

The  river  Dae,  159. 

Deidly  yew,  290,  deadly  bow. 

The  Dj'il,  34,  285,  291,  Devil. 

Delia  (.^noM.),  141,  211,  212. 

Delia  (J.  Scott),  270. 

Delphi,  96. 

Denham,  Sir  J.,  67,  wrote  a 
Poem  called  Cojper's  Hill 
in  1643. 

Denmark,  290. 

Dannis,  J.,  69. 

Desdemona  i.W.  Shake- 
speare >,  195. 

Devereux,  "  Countess  of 
Leicester;  A.  (Robsart, 
afterwarvls).  237-241. 

Devereux,  Eail  of  Essex; 
R.,  156. 

Devereux,  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter; R.,  237,  239,  240. 

Dibdin,  C,  296,  297. 

Didna,  249,  did  not. 

Dight,  264,  clothe,  dress. 

Dighting,  288,  dressing. 

I  diana  ken,  35,  do  not  know. 

Dione  (Anon.\  76,  jj. 

Divets,  289,  thin,  flat  turfs. 

Dizened  her  out,  28,  decked 
her  out  with  finery. 

Dodd,  Rev.  W.,  28. 


Dolefu',  283,  291,  doleful. 
Dolly  [=  Dorothy]    (Anon.), 

198. 
Dool  [=   dole],    171,  sorrow, 

grief 
Doughtna,  290,  dared  not. 
Douglas,  Bishop  J.,  25,  28. 
Douglas,       Duchess'      of 

Queensberry ;  C,  158. 
Douna,  289,  do  not. 
It  dow,  292,  can  do. 
Dowie,  171,  288,  sad,  dreary. 
Dowie  glen,  283,  lonely. 
I'll  down,  234,  i  will  go  down. 
Drift,  289,  snow  driven  by  the 

wind. 
Drogs,  289,  drugs,  medicines. 
Druids,  259. 
Drumly    pow,    292,    sleepy 

head. 
The  Dryad  of  this  hoary 

oak,  257. 
Dryden,  J.,  98,  192. 
DuBois;  Lady  D.,  165-168. 
Dunbar,  33-35. 
Fair  dung,  288,  fairly  over- 
powered with  fatigue. 
D'Urfeys,    113,    T.    D'Urfey 

(see  Vol.  VII,  266-276),  and 

Dramatists  like  him. 


Easments,  222,  houses. 
Edinburgh,  281. 
Edwardlll,  King,  67. 
Edwin  (O.  Goldsmith),  1-8. 
Edwin  (D.  Mallet),  142-146. 
Eelist,  222. 
E'en,  107,  160,  even. 
E'en,E'ening,37, 171, evening. 
Een,  289,  eyes. 
E'enings,  288,  evening's. 
E'enin    stent,   291,    evening 

task. 
E'er,  15,  21,  60,  120,  &c.,  ever. 
Egypt,  u 2. 

Eidant,  289,  diligent,  busy. 
Eild  [—  eld  I,  291,  age. 
Ein  [=  eynel,  287,  292,  eyes. 
Eke,  292,  also. 
Eliza,  156,  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  64, 86, 156. 
Elliot,  Bart. ;  Sir  G.,  170. 
Ellict,  J.,  170,  171. 
Emma  (D.  Mallet),  142-146. 
Emma(T.  Joel),  267. 
Emyra  (W.  Collins),  53. 
Endermay,  147,  148,285. 
Endymion,  139. 
England,  69,  '96,  116. 
Erst,  290,  formerly. 
E'sham,  46,  Evesham. 
Essex — see  Devereux,  R. 
Eton  College,  near  V\'indsor, 

82-85. 
Evil  Eie,  291,  the  Evil  Eye. 


Ev'ry,  38,  every. 

At  our  ewes'  milking,  171, 

the  milking  of  our  ewes. 
Eyne,  177,  eyes. 


Fa',  37,  fall. 
Fa',  286,  obtain. 
Had    the    face,    39,    the    im- 
pudence. 
Fadge,  291,   a    flat   loaf   or 

bannock. 
I  fairly  [  --  ferly],  222,  wonder. 
Faith  !  287,  in  good  faith ! 
Fand,  223,  found. 
Fanny  ["-   Lady  F.  Shirley] 

(P.    D.    Stanhope,    Earl    of 

Chesterfield),  70,  71,  157,  158. 
Fa's,  248,  292,  falls. 
Fastin'    mou',  290,   fasting 

mouth. 
Fat  Knight,  195,  Sir  J.  Fal- 

staff. 
Fauld,  248,  fold. 
Faustus,     113,     a     popular 

Pantomime. 
Fav'rite,  57,  184,  favourite. 
Feather-cinctured,  96,  with 

a  girdle  of  feathers. 
Fee,  2QI,  reward. 
Feg,  2S7,  fig. 
Fek,  286,  quantity. 
Fells,  292,  kills,  supplies. 
Fergusson,  R.,  283-292. 
Field,  170,  183, 195,  battlefield. 
Fielding,  H.,  156,  157. 
Fient    [=    Fiend],    290,    the 

Devil. 
First-rates,  190,  three-decked 

ships  of  war  carrying  74  to 

120  guns. 
Fitzgerald,  Rev. T.,  262,  263. 
Flat-bottoms,     166,     boats 

without  keels. 
Flavella  (Anon.),  209. 
Flavia(W.Shenstone),  44,48. 
Fleeching,  i-i,  flattering. 
To  fl;etcli  us,  201,  tempt. 
Fletcher,  J,  176. 
Fletcher,  Dean  of  Kildare ; 

P-.  74-  7S- 
Fley'd,  288,  frightened. 
Flings  his  een,  289,  casts  his 

eyes. 
Flodden  Field,  170,  171. 
The  Flower  of  the  i  orest, 

171,  King  James  V  of  Scot- 
land. 

Flowers  of  the  Forest,  170- 

172,  the  picked  men. 

Urge  the  flying  ball,  83, 
?  Tennis.  Cricket  was  not, 
in  1747,  the  national  game. 

Fock[=  fouk],  288,  folk. 

Folding  star,  56,  the  star  at 
the  rising  of  which  the  flock 
is  put  in  the  fold. 


306 


Glossary  and  Index 


Fond,  179,  affectionate. 
Forby,  211,  in  addition,  over 

and  above. 
Forfairn,  225,  destitute,  for- 
lorn. 
Ye    forsta    me!     235,    you 

understanil  me ! 
Foster,    Mrs.    E.,    Milton's 

f;r.-iiul-dauj;htcr,  116,  117. 
Fouk,  212,  2-'5,  288,  folk. 
Foy,  291,  a  parting  entertain- 

mfnt,  a  death  feast. 
Frae,  34,  248,  264,  itc.,  from. 
France,  39,  87,  135. 
Friendship   with   Woman 

is  Sister  to  Love,  jikj. 
Front,  .'gi,  lorthcad. 
Fu',  •■86- .'go,  i^c.,  full,  very. 
Fulvia  (\\  .  Shcnstone),  49. 
Thi-    furrowed    task,    205, 

ploughing. 


Gabbin,  171.  railler>-,  jeering. 

Gentler  Gabs,  289,  gentle- 
folks. 

Gade  [  =  gaed],  248,  went. 

Gae,  235,  go. 

'Gainst,  76, 83,  go.&c,  against. 

Gaists,  2g(},  ghosts. 

Gane,  24H,  igcj,  gone. 

Gang,  Gangs,  33,  222,  349, 
28-  &C.,  go,  goes. 

Gar  d,  290,  made. 

Gardies,  2911,  arms. 

Garrick.D.,  25,  29,  30,  39, 112- 
114,  no,  117,  i8i-i8(j. 

Gars,  288,  290,  makes. 

Gash,  2(>o,  talk,  gossip. 

The  gates  o't,  222,  ways  of  it. 

Gauds,  34,  238,  ornaments. 

Gauls,  67,  260,  the  French. 

Gawsy  [  -  gaucy),  287, 
stately. 

Gear,  201,  things  given  as 
presents. 

Geek  at,  2^6,  jibe  at,  taunt. 

Taken  with  the  gee,  223, 
become  unmanageable. 

Wad  but  gee  [  =   gi'e],  224, 

gixe. 

George,  41,  King  George  II. 

George  II,  King,  41,  190. 

George  III,  King,  169,  227. 

Georgia,  Ku^Ma,  53-55. 

Georgia,  l.'.S  .A.,  21,  "22, 

Ghaist,  249,  ghost. 

Black  gibbet,  2(.i.  In  1770, 
cTiniiiiai^  were  left  hanging 
in  cliam*  by  the  roadside. 

Gi'e,  289,  give. 

Gl'ed  [  -  givr<l),  249,  gave. 

Gi'en,  35,  given. 

Gin,  2^7,  \T. 

Girdle,  jfla  a  circular  iron 
plate  u>rd  for  baking  oat- 
meal cakes. 


Girnels,  222,  meal-chests.        | 
Glass,  50,  drinking  glass.  | 

Glass,   182,  mirror  retlccting  1 
the  personages  in  every  Ago.  , 
Through  glass,  65,  spectacles. 
Glenfjarry,  31.  "  I 

The  Gleyb,  292,  the  field. 
Glibly  gash,  290,  fieely  talk.  ] 
Glitt'ring,  204,  glittering. 
Gloming,     171,      284,     288, 

gloaming. 
Glowr  [  =  stare],  292,  look. 
Golden  Key,  228,  the  badge 

of  the  Vice-Chaniberlaiii. 
Goldsmith,  O.,  1-30. 
Goodman,  234,  235,  the  hus- 
band and  master  of  a  family. 
Gowden,  285,  golden. 
A  gowk,  286,  a  fool. 
Gradden,  J,  (X.  Ross),  224, 

22^. 
Graham,     later    Cunning- 
hame-Graham,  M,P. ;  R., 
2(14,  265. 
Graith,  286,  wearing  apparel. 
Grane,  28=;,  groan. 
Gray,  T.,  H^>-iu4. 
Grecian  Coffee  House,  Lon- 
don, 221. 
Bear  the  gree,  285,   286,  to 
carry  off    the  prize,    to    be 
pre-eminent. 
Greece,  96,  97. 
The  Green,  lO,  1 1,  12,  19,  &c., 

the  village  Common,  20. 
Green,  the  colour  of   Rejec- 
tion, 201. 
Greenwich  Hill,  Kent,  66. 
Greet,  236,  249,  2()o,  weep. 
Grenville,  Countess  Tem- 
ple; A.,  154,  155. 
Greville,  Mrs.  — ,  214-219. 
Grey,  R.  (Lady.V.  Hariiard), 

248,  249. 
Grien  l-grene],  292,  yearn. 
Groom,  the  Steward  at  Stoke 

Park  .Manor  House,  91. 
Grub  Street,  London,  29. 
Grummer,2io,  more  gloomy. 
Gudame,  2<jo,  grandmoilier. 
Gudeman,  289,  291,  the  hus- 
band and  master  of  a  family. 
The  Gudcwife,  289,  292,  the 

fanner's  wife. 
Guunersbury  Park,  66. 


H;  LS.,  .29. 

H d  ;  Lady  E.,  65. 

Habit,  6,  dress. 

Had,  28<>,  holds,  krrps. 

Hae,  22,,  236,  277,  ^c,  have. 
Haffits,  287,  clie.k». 
Hafdins    (-    halGnga),    392, 

partially. 
Hal  [-  Harry]  (Anon,),  210. 

X   2 


Halcyon,  47,  the  kingfisher. 

Halland,  289,  the  screen  be- 
tween the  door  and  the  fire- 
place of  a  Scotch  farm 
kitchen. 

Hame,  24S,  289,  home. 

Hamely,  283,  2.S8,  homely, 

Hameward,  2.S4,  homeward. 

Some  vill.ij'e  Hampden,  101. 

Handel,  F.  G.,  02,  (h>. 

Handled,  289,  managed, 

Hanover,  68. 

Hap  ye  weel,  286,  wrap  you 
up  well. 

Harcourt,  Earl  Harcourt; 

S.,  229. 
Harry  (.\non.),  210. 
Harry  (T.  Gray,  81. 
Harry  (\V.  Shcnstone),  39. 
Har'st,  171,  har\'est. 
Har'sts,  292,  harvests. 
Produce  hash,  290,  destruc- 
tion, waste. 
Hatton,  Sir  C,  86. 
The  Hattons,  86. 
Hawkies,  2'.)2,  cows. 
The  Hays  [  -  Hays  de  guise], 

279,  dances  having  a  w  inding 

motion. 
Heart  of  Oak,  186,  the  solid 

central  part  of  an  oak  tree; 

hence,    a   man   of  enduring 

\alour. 
Heartsome,  289,  refreshing, 

heartening. 

Heath'ry    turfs,    .-89,    turf 

covered  with  heather. 

Hebe  (J.  West,  Earl  De  la 
Wan),  226. 

He'd,  69,  221,  lie,  he  would. 

Heese,  Heeze,  288,  291,  lift 
up,  laise  up. 

Helicon,  i)V 

Henry  VIl,  King,  82. 

Herds  {Scotch),  284,  shep- 
herds. 

Hersel,  32,  herself 

Hervey,  Earl  of  Bristol ; 
J.,  6;. 

Hervey,  Lady  M.,  68,  uj. 

Het,  289,  hot. 

Hickey,  T.,  25,  30. 

Hies  her,  171,  hastens. 

Hindmost,  289,  last. 

Homer,  120. 

Horace,  2^2. 

Housie,  28<),  an  affectionate 
diminuti\e  1)1  HouM". 

Howard,  Countess  of  Car- 
lisle; I,,  .'17-211; 

Howard,  Countess  of  Suf- 
folk ;  H.,  154,  >5'- 

Howc'cr,  1511,  li()wevi-r. 

Hunt,  — ,  1 14,  a  boicr  on  the 
Stage. 

Huntingdons,  the  [Larli  of  J, 
86. 

3"7 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Hustled,  75,  shuffled. 
Hyde,  Earl  of  Clarendon; 
£..  156. 


I',  225,  in. 

I'd,  68,  165,  185,  &c.,  I  would. 

Idalia,  94. 

Ilissus  laves,  96. 

Ilk,  Ilka,  171,  283,  285,  &c., 

each,  every. 
I'll,  7,  34,  59,  &c.,  I  will. 
I'm,  160,  188,  I  am. 
I'm  no  like,  249,  I  am  not 

likely. 
Indermay,  285,  the  same  as 

Invermay,  147,  148. 
Indifference    (Mrs.  —  Gre- 

ville),  215. 
Ingle,  288,  292,  fire,  fireside. 
The   Ingle's    low,   290,    the 

fireside's  blaze. 
Insight     [  =     insicht],    222, 

goods,     furniture,     utensils 

within  the  house. 
Into,  235,  in. 
Invermay,  147,  148,  285. 
The   Isles,   36,    the   Western 

Isles  of  Scotland. 
Islington,   8,   9,   a   northern 

suburb  of  London,  a  separate 

town  when  Goldsmith  wrote. 
Italy,  96,  97,  285. 
Ither,  37,  other. 
I've,  120,  121,  160,  &c.,  I  have. 


Jack  [=  John]  (Anon.),  271, 

272. 
Jacobite  Songs,  31-37. 
Ye  jades !  234,  hussies  ! 
Janes,  The  Lady,  90-92. 
Jearing,  171,  jeering. 
Jemmy  (Lady  A.  Barnard), 

248,  2A9. 
Jenny  (Anon.),  32,  33. 
Jenny   (Lady   A.  Barnard), 

248,  249. 
Jenny  (R.  Fergusson),  290. 
Jenny  .  .  .  Jockie  (A.  Ross), 

225,  like  the  English  Darby 

and  Joan,  163. 
Jesse  (E.  Moore),  131, 
Jim[=  gim],  67,  fine. 
Joan  (Anon.),  163. 
Joans,  The  Lady,  90-92. 
Jock  (R.  Fergusson),  260. 
Jock  (W.  J.  Mickle),  234. 
Jockie  (A.  Ross),  225. ' 
Joel,  T.,  266,  267. 
John  (Anon.),  271,  272. 
John(R.  Fergusson),  288. 
Johnson,   LL.D. ;    S.,   112- 

118.  The  four  bracketed  lines 

on  page  24  are  by  him. 


Jones,  M.,  105-107. 
Jonson,  B.,  30,  112,  113,  192. 
Jooks,  223,  jokes. 


288, 


cater- 


Kail-worms, 

pillars. 

Kate  (D.  GarrickX  190. 

Kate  (W.  J.  Mickle),  234. 

Kate  of  Aberdeen  (J.  Cun- 
ningham), 199,  200. 

Kebbock  whang'd,  291, 
sliced  cheese. 

Kebbuck  nice,  292,  nice 
cheese. 

Keck,  Miss,  227. 

Keeks,  288,  appears,  peeps. 

Kelly,  H.,  29  30,  138-140. 

Ken,  35,  222,  know. 

Kend  [  =  kenned],  33,  223, 
knew. 

Kenrick,  LL.D. ;  W.,  28,  29. 

Kens,  289,  knows. 

I'll  down  the  Key,  234,  I  will 
go  down  to  the  Quay. 

Kidlings,  203,  young  kids. 

Kill,  291,  kiln. 

King,  228,  George  III. 

Kirkyard,  177,  290,  church- 
yard. 

Kitty  (Anon.),  164. 

Kitty  (G.  Canning  the  Elder), 
220,  221. 

Kitty  (M.  Prior),  158,  Catha- 
rine [Hyde,  afterwards] 
Douglas,Duchess  of  Queens- 
berry;  see  Vol.  VIII,  p.  84. 

Kitty  (W.  Shenstone),  40,  43. 

Ky,  222,  248,  291,  &c.,  cows. 


L.,  Esquire ;  C,  62,  63. 

Lab'rers,  291,  labourers. 

The  Lads,  292,  farm  labour- 
ers. 

Lag,  193,  tardy,  slow. 

Laith,  287,  loth. 

Lambkin,  207,  lambkins, 
252,  little  lamb,  lambs. 

Land-men,  190,  landsmen. 

Lang,  37,  292,  long. 

Lass  of  the  Mill  (Anon.),  197, 
Polly. 

Lass  on  the  brow  of  the 
Hill  (M.  Jones),  106,  107. 

Lasses,  288,  the  hireling 
damsels  at  292. 

Latian  plains,  97. 

Latium,  97. 

Lauder,  W.,  28. 

The  lave  [=  lafe],  291,  the  re- 
mainder, the  rest. 

Lav'rocks,  37,  148,  285, 
larks. 

Lea,  09,  Leas,  291,  open, 
untilled  grass  land. 


Leal  [=  liel],  288,  honestly. 

Lean,  291,  rest. 

Leander  (Anon.),  52. 

Lear,  289,  learn. 

Leel,  235,  honest,  upright. 

Leglin,  171,  292,  a  milk-pail, 
with  one  of  the  staves  pro- 
jecting as  a  handle. 

Leicester— see  Devereux, 
R. 

Lepell,  Molly,  68,  69,  Mary 
Lepell,  afterwards  Lady 
Mary  Hervey. 

Auld  lerroch,  291,  site. 

Lesbian,  230,  Arion. 

Leugh  o'  me,  222,  laughed  at 
me. 

Lift,  289,  the  atmosphere. 

Lilt,  284,  cheerfully  sing. 

Lilting,  37,  171,  cheerful  sing- 
ing. 

Disdain  the  limits,  83,  go  out 
of  bounds. 

Lincoln,  39. 

Linties,  285,  linnets. 

Lintwhites,  148,  linnets. 

Loaning  [=  loan  =  lawn, and 
also  lane],  171,(1)  an  open 
space  between  fields  of  corn, 
left  untilled  for  the  passage 
of  cattle  ;  (2)  a  little  Com- 
mon, near  country  villages, 
wliere  they  milk  their  cows. 

Lochiel,  31. 

Lo'ed,  Loo'd,  36,  248,  loved. 

Logan,  Rev.  J.,  254-256. 

London,  37. 

Looes  he,  289,  loves  he. 

Louis  d'ors,  190,  a  gold  coin 
of  France,  nominally  worth 
20s. 

Louping,  290,  leaping. 

Love  -  Cupid. 

Love,  the  affection  between 
individuals  of  the  opposite 
sexes  that  are  capable  of 
intermarriage. 

Another  Love,  198,  Lover. 

In  love. 

My  Love,  the  Lady,  or 
Gentleman,  I  love. 

My  love,  the  love  1  have  for 
that  person. 

Lover,  a  man  who  loves  a 
woman.  Also  called.  Ser- 
vant, True  Love. 

Low,  290,  blaze,  flame. 

Lucetta  (T.  Joel),  267. 

Lucinda(I.  Bickerstaffe),i59. 

Lyart,  171,  withered,  faded. 

Lybian  sands,  136. 

Lyes,  171,  248,  lies. 


Macbeth,  64. 
Macgibbon,  W.,  284,  285. 


308 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Hacleane,  — ,  a  highwayman, 

Macpherson,  J.,  28. 

Mahomet,  114,  a  rope^iancir. 

Mailins,  jgo,  rented  larms. 

Main,  .'->,  .16,  atxi,  ay.?,  ocean. 

Mair,  171,  17^,  2x2,  &.c.,  more. 

Maist,  ."84.  K)2.  &.C.,  most. 

The  Mall,  London,  J73. 

Mallet,  D.,  i4.'-i47. 

Mane,  i"^^,  jcjo,  moan. 

Manna,  JS7,  mubt  not. 

Manor,  88,  the  district  under 
the  local  jurisdiction  of  the 
Lord  ol  the  Manor,  in  this 
case  Viscountess  Cobham. 

Marble  Hill,  Twickenham, 
66,  the  residenci-  of  H. 
Howard.Countess  of  Suffolk. 

Margent,  8j,  margin. 

Maria  (Rev.  J.  Logan),  J56. 

Marriott,  Rt.  Hon.  Sir  J., 

A  marrow  [  =  a  match],  22^, 
a  partner  in  marriage. 

Hary  (.Vnon.),  210. 

Mary  (p.  D.  Stanhope,  Earl 
of  Chesterfield  I,  72. 

Mary  Tudor,  Queen,  90. 

Maun,  iQt),  2<)j,  must. 

Mavis,  14S,  tlirush. 

Meadows,  Miss,  227.  i 

HeElls,  222,  the  (lour  of  oats, 
barley,  or  pease;  as  distin- 
guished from  that  of  wheat. 

Meander,  96,  the  river. 

MeUssa[  =  H.Spc<:dJ(T.Gray),  1 
^7-  I 

Meltith,  289,  a  meal.  ! 

Merl,  37,  the  blackbird. 

MetUed,287,sprightly,spirite<l. 

Mickle.W.  J.,  234-241. 

Bliddlesex,  66. 

'Midst,  57,  8<j,  i«ic.,  amidst. 

Milton,  J,  96  98,  116,  117. 

Some  mute  inglorious  Milton, 
101. 

lUra(H.  Kelly),  139.  I 

Mistress,  alwavs,  in  this 
Serirs,  in  a  good  sense  ;  with 
its  many  equivalents,  such 
as,  sweet  Heart !  dear  Joy  ! 
Saint !  &c.,  &c. 

lIog.M.,68,  see  Vol.  VIII,  pp. 
167- 1  ^k;. 

Holl,Molly  [  =  Mary](Anon.), 
271,  272. 

HolKD.  Garrick),  190. 

Molly  (Anon.  I,  243,  358,  a.S9. 

Ttone,  171,  among. 

Thr  Monsieum,  nx),  French. 

Montagu.  LadyM.  W.,  156. 

Mony,  \<>.  2»«,  a:i  .,  many.' 

Moore,  £.,  \-\<t,  \\\. 

Thrir  morning  counsel  tnk, 
2iy2.  take  jn-itruclirini  lor  the 
Work  next  rooming. 


Mou',  287,  29*),  mouth. 

Mount  Edgecumbe,  Devon- 
shire, IiSj. 

Mow,  ig8,  a  haycock. 

Muckle,  .'41),  niuch. 

Muckle  pat,  234,  great  pot. 

Multure     2(j2,  the  charge  of; 
the    miller  for  grinding   tlie 
corn  Thirlage  —  see 

Thirling  Mill. 

Murth'rous,  84,   murderous. 

Myrtilla  (.K.  Kult),  298. 


Outsight,    222,    goods,    fut 
nituie,  utensils  out  of  doors. 
Owre,  36,  over. 
Owsen,  2S4,  288,  oxen. 
Oxford,  i8g. 
Oxfordshire,  i8«,  i8g. 
Oy  |.=oe],  291,  grandson. 


Na,  35,  286,  291,  no,  not. 

Nae,  37,  171,  234-236,  &c.,  no. 

Naebody,  284,  nol)o<lv. 

Naething,  225,  248,  nothing. 

Nancy  (Anon.),  104. 

Nancy  (D.  Garrick),  188-191). 

Nancy  (H.  Kelly),  138. 

Nancy  iT.  Percy,  bishop  of 
Dromoret,  174,  175. 

Nancy  (\V.  Shenstone),  46-48. 

Nane,  223-22";,  none. 

Nanny  [■=Ann]  (T.  G.  Smol- 
lett), 136. 

Nappy  liquor,  289,  strong  ale. 

Nature's  Darling,  97,  W. 
Shakespeare. 

Ne'er,  33,  36,  59,  &c.,  never. 

1  he  neist,  236,  next. 

Nell  (M.  Jones)    107. 

New-fangled  hat,  200,  new- 
fashioned. 

Newton,  Sir  I.,  288. 

Nice,  229,  difficult,  delicate. 
Niest[=  nighest],  292,  next. 
Nill  he  I  89,  will  he  not. 
No  (Scolcli\  36,  225,  not. 
Noah,  64,  123. 
Noddle,  2,S(;,  head. 
V  the  far  nook,  289,  corner. 
No  scanty,  222,  not  scarce. 
Nova  Zenibla,  136. 
Numbers,  93,  i9.5,&c.,  poetry. 


O'f  35,  223,  234,  a86,  &c.,  of. 
British  oak,  135. 
Heart  of  oak,  186,  si-e  Heart. 
Thine  Oaks,  260,   ships  built 

of  oak. 
Oaten  stop,  56,  see  oaten  \ 

reed,     185;      and     aiten 

straw,  284. 
Oatlands    Park,  Walton  on 

Thames,  67. 
O'er,  10,  15,  18  &c.,  ovrr. 
O'erword",  37.  burden. 
Pleasing  one  not  worth  the 

pleasing  I  i.";?,  KingGcorge 

O't,  222,  2«6,  of  iL 
Otway,  T.,  191. 


Never  paired, 1 92,  unequalled. 

Painbamarca,  .-4,  a  moun- 
tain in  Kcuador,  South 
•Vincrica. 

Parian  floor,  45,  a  floor  of 
Parian  marble. 

The  Park,  Lomlon,  39,  273, 
279,  Hyde  Park,  \c. 

Partlet,  202,  the  name  of  the 
hen  in  Chaucer's  Nun's 
Priest's  Tale. 

Passion,  predilection,  habi- 
tude. 'The  ruling  Passion 
strong  in  death.' 

Passion,  emotion,  not  neces- 
sarily of  love.  It  might  also 
be  ol  anger,  grief,  zeal,  lie. 

Passion,  Passions,  anxie- 
ties of  mind  and  agonies  of 
soul  through  love  for  one  of 
the  opposite  sex. 

Pat,i57,  convenient,  tempting. 

Pat  {ScotchX  234,  pot. 

I'd  pat  him,  208,  tap,  strike, 
him  with  the  hand. 

Pawky  I  =pauky],  284,  skil- 
ful, artful. 

Pearl-blue,  335,   clear    pale 

blue. 
Peats,    289,    vegetable    fuel, 

turf  fuel. 
Peggy      r  =  PcK  =  Margaret 

WofTington]   (O.    Garrick), 

184,  185. 
Peleus,  183. 
Fens,  2.>5,  best  clothes. 
Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore; 

T.,  174-180. 
Persia,  55. 
Persians,  278. 
Petrarch,  F.,  9<). 
PhantoiH,  2,    /x'n«  /atuus, 

m.Trsh  gas. 
Phillis  (Anon.),  269. 
Phillis(S.  Boyce),  109,  ill. 
Phillis  (J.  Cunningham),  J»>7, 

2<)8. 

Phillis  (T.  Joel),  267. 
Phoebe  (C  Sack  vdle.  Uuke  of 

liorsel),  246,  247 
Phyllis  (Rt    Hon.  Sir  J.  Mnr 

riotl),  3\2. 
Pibrachs  (=  pibroch*).  284, 

rnarlial    miit'C    ndnptnl    lu 

the  Hii;lil.iiid  bii;;pip>-. 

A  pickle  hair,  28;,  u  ainglr 
bkir. 


Glossary  and  Index. 


An  ancient  Pile,  86,  89-92,  a 
large  building,  Great 
House,  89;  in  this  case, 
Stoke  Park,  the  Manor 
House  of  Stoke  Pogis, 
Buckinghamshire ;  237, 

Cumnor  Hall. 

The  pin,  32,  the  latch. 

Pindar,  93,  94,  98. 

Pinners,  72,  a  woman's 
headdress,  having  long  flaps 
hanging  down. 

Pique,  9,  irritation. 

Pistol  (W.  Shakespeare),  195. 

Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham ;  W., 
182,  183, 

'Plaining,  177,  complaining. 

Plato,  150,  151. 

Plays— 

Comus,  by  J.  Milton,  116. 

Love  in  a  Village,  by  I. 
Bickerstaffe,  159. 

A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,  by  W.  Shake- 
speare, 214. 

The  Waterman,  by  C. 
Dibdin,  296. 

Ploughs  [=  pleuchsj,  289, 
ploughs. 

Poems— 
Reliques  of  Ancient  Eng- 
lish Poetry,  ed.  by  Bishop 
T.  Percy,  176. 

Polly  (Anon.),  197. 
Poortith,     288,      289,     292, 

poverty. 
Pope,  A.,  98,  156. 
Pot,  163,  a  tobacco  pipe. 
A  pother,  167,  astir,  a  bustle. 
Pothooks,    89,     letters— see 

Spell. 
Pow,  286,  292,  head. 
The   Village   Preacher,    15. 

This  character  is  supposed 

to  be  recollections  of  Gold- 
smith's own  father. 
Preston  town,  34,  Preston 

Pans. 
Toprie  [  =  preif],  291,  to  taste. 
Prior,  M.,  158. 
Progress,  93,  the  successive 

development     in      different 

countries. 
Prometheus,  197. 
Pulteney,    Earl   of  Bath; 

W.,  65-69. 
Pump  for  a  metre,  69,  get  a 

rhyme  anyhow. 
Purt,  Rev.  R.,  88. 
Pye,  J.  H.,  213. 


Four  quarters,  286,  theentire 

human  body. 
Battle  of  Quebec,  50. 


The  Queen,  169,  228,  Queen 
Charlotte  Sophia,  Consort 
of  King  George  III. 

The  Queen,  157,  Queen  Wil- 
helmina  Charlotte  Caroline, 
Consort  of  King  George  II. 

Queensberry,Duchess  of— 
see  Douglas,  C. 

The  questing,  62,  hunting. 

Quin,  J.,  39. 


Rade,  35,  rode. 

Ranelagh  Gardens,  Lon- 
don, 149,  296. 

Rangles,  290,  groups. 

Raphael,  S.,  30. 

Rax  [  =  reach],  289,  become. 

Rax  me,  234,  reach  me,  hand 
me. 

Readied  kail,  289,  prepared 
cabbages,  greens. 

Reams,  289,  foams,  froths. 

Reeks,  286,  smokes. 

Respeckit,  286,  respected. 

Restit,  2g2,  rested. 

Restoration  Age,  The,  96. 

Reynolds,  P.R.A. ;  Sir  J., 

2.S,   .30. 

Richmond,  157,  the  royal 
Palace  at  Richmond,  Surrey. 

Richmond,  Surrey,  140. 

Ridge,  J.,  25. 

Riggin,  289,  the  ridge  of  the 
house. 

Rigs,  292,  arable  land. 

Rive,  177,  split,  break. 

Rives,  185,  splits,  breaks. 

Auld  Rob,  or  Robin  Grey 
(Lady  A.  Barnard),  248,  249. 

Roger  (J.  Cunningham),  200, 
201. 

Roger  (M.  Jones),  106,  107. 

To  chase  the  rolling  circle's 
speed,  83,  trundling  a  hoop. 

Rolt,  R.,  298. 

Rosalind  (D.  Garrick),  195. 

Ross,  A.,  222-225. 

Rossetta  (I.  Bickerstaffe),  159. 

Rounds,  62,  the  celestial 
Spheres. 

A  5R.out,  28,  a  fashionable 
assembly. 

Her  rubbers,  92,  at  whist. 

The  Twelve  Good  Rules,  18. 
They  were:  i.  Urge  no 
Healths!  2.  Profane  no  di- 
vine ordinances !  3.  Touch 
no  State  matters!  4.  Re- 
veal no  secret's!  5.  Pick  no 
quarrels!  6.  Make  no  com- 
parisons! 7.  Maintain  no  ill 
opinions!  8.  Keep  no  bad 
company!  9  Encourage  no 
vice!  10.  Make  no  long 
meals !  1 1  Repeat  no  griev- 
ances I  13.  Lay  no  wagers  I 


Runcles,  291,  wrinkles. 

Rungs,  34,  clubs. 

Runkled,  171,  wrinkled. 

Russet  [=  a  reddish-brown 
colour],  174,  291,  a  coarse 
home-spun  gown  ;  robes  of 
country  brown,  21. 


's  [  =  is]  {Scotch)^  223,  are. 

's,  292,  has. 

's,  7,  32,  36,  59,  &.C.,  is. 

's,  75,  168,  252,  281,  &c.,  us. 

Sabbing,  171,  sobbing. 

Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset; 
C,  244-247, 

Sae,  32,  236,  283,  284,  &c.,  so. 

Saft-tongued,  285,  soft- 
tongued. 

Saint  James's  Coffee 
House,  London,  25,  26. 

Saint  John,  Viscount  Bo- 
lingbroke;  H.,  156. 

Sair,  249,  sore. 

Sair-dow'd,  291,  sore  with- 
ered. 

Sair  wark,  289,  hard  work. 

Sally  (Anon.),  120,  121,  268, 
269. 

Sang,  37,  283,  song. 

Sangster,  285,  songster. 

Sappho  (T.  G.  Smollett),  132. 

Sark,  287,  shirt. 

Save  his  bacon,  91,  pre- 
serve himself  from  harm. 

A  scabbard,  287,  a  sheath. 

Scald,  287,  scold. 

'Scape,  20,  escape. 

Scarron,  P.,  25. 

Lady  Schaub,  89— see  Spell. 

School,  112,  of  Learning. 

Science,  82,  knowledge  in 
general. 

Scorning,  171,  rallying 

Scotia,  31,  283,  292,  Scotland. 

Scotland,  285. 

Scott  of  Amwell,  J.,  27o. 

Scowder'd,  291,  scorcned. 

Scowry,  292,  showery. 

Scrapin  wark,  287,  shaving. 

Scraps  r  =  skraps],  223, 
mocks,  gibes 

Scrip,  2,  wallet,  satchel. 

Scroggy  glen,  33,  full  of 
stunted  bushes. 

Seat,  19,  country  house. 

Seth,  64. 

Shak,  2go,  shake. 

Shakespeare,  W.,  30,  97, 
112,  113,  176,  181,  191-196, 
283   288. 

The  Shakespeare  Jubilee 
of  1769,  191,  ig6. 

She,  the  emphatic  feminine 
Personal  Pronoun,  used 
where  the  poetical  name  of 
the  Lady  does  not  occur. 


310 


Glossary  aud  Index. 


She'd,  8S.  198,  she  wouUL 

Shell,  j86,  outside. 

Shenstone,  W.,  39-49. 

Sherlock,  71,  Dean  W,  Sher- 
lock's Discourse  ionurniug 
Death,  UiSg. 

Shirley,  Lady  F.,  ro,  71, 
15:,  i5«. 

Shoon,  i<!;,  shoes. 

Shou'd,  ^^7,  shouM. 

Sic,  J^4,  such. 

Sicken,  290,  such  like. 

T'other  Side,  jj/,  political 
Party. 

Sillerj  J87,  silver. 

Simmer,  icyi,  jgi,  summer. 

Sion  House,  Brentford,  66. 

Skaith,  i88,  damage. 

Skreed,  284,  screeched,  with 
a  shrill  sound. 

Slae-black,  386,  black  as  a 
sloe. 

Slaes,  2«,  sloes. 

The  sledge,  42,  on  which 
criminals  were  dragged 
from  Newgate  Prison  to 
Tyburn,  for  execution. 

Slee,  284,  artful,  ingenious. 

Sleek,  287,  smooth. 

Sleely,  283,  289,  craftily, 
slylv. 

Slipp'ry,  81,  slippery. 

Sly-boots,  26,  the  name  of 
the  Cat  in  the  Story  of  Puss 
in  Boots  =a  cunning  per- 
son. 

Smeek,  280,  smoke. 

Smollett.  T.  G.,  M2-136. 

Smurtra  [  =  smirklcd,  smir- 
tied),  225,  has  slightly 
smiled 

Snaw,  2S5,  snow. 

Snaw-tapit,  288,  snow-cov- 
ered. 

Sock  and  couter,  292,  a 
pl.)j^rli>hare. 

Sod.;er,  <7,  soldier. 

Sods,  jS(j.  eaithen  fuel,  used 
fi»r  the  b.iik  of  the  fire. 

'Soho!  '  62,  a  hum  in;;  cry. 

Son  of  May,  i8v  Apollo. 

Sone,  1 1  V  the  liallad  0|)craH 
•tarti-d  by  \.(^a.\'% Beggar's 
opera.  172S 

Sons  of  the  Waves,  186. 

Soun',  37,  sound 
Sound,  i\'*.,  Hiiund  asleep. 
Southcoats,  67,  ?  Mr.  Si'uth- 

colf-'i     liouv-    called    Woo- 

burn  Farm,  Weybrid;;c. 
To    tpae,    28<;,    to    forebode, 

pro;jno«ticate,  divine. 
Spark,    287,    a    (jay,    lively 

m.in. 
Specr,  22<,  inquire. 
A  Spell,  8t).       Thin  wn<   the  ' 

foliowmi;       note  :  —  '  Lady  I 


Schaub's  compliments  to 
Mr.  Gray.  She  is  sorry  not 
to  have  found  him  at  home, 
to  tell  him  that  Lady  Brown 
is  very  well.' 

Spenser,  £.,156. 

Spinning   Wheel,   21,    i\\, 

.•(>8,   2Ch). 

Squib,  the  Groom  of  the 
Chamliers  at  Stoke  Park 
Manor  House,  91. 

Squire  thic,  264,  escort  thee. 

Staniacks,  28<>,  stomachs. 

Staneniore^  [44. 

Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chester- 
field ;   P.  D.,  (.S-;.;,  74,  75, 

Steeks  [=  steiks],  288,  shuts. 

Steeks,  292,  shuts  out,  ex- 
cludi-s,  separates  from. 

Steer,  292,  ;  o. 

SteUa  (S.  Johnson,  LL.D.), 
115,  118. 

Stent,  2gi,  task. 

Stevens,  G.  A.,  250,  a^\. 

Stirrah,  2S7,  young  fellow. 

Stoun  awa ,  24H,  stolen 
away. 

Strait,  224,  diflicuUy. 

Strang,  289,  2i>),  strong. 

Strattord  upon  Avon,  191- 
196. 

Strawberry  Hill,  Twicken- 
ham, 66,  67,  IS7,  the  resi- 
dence of  H.  W'^lpole,  Earl 
of  Orford. 

Streeks    him,  91,   stretches 

liimself. 
Strephoa     (Anon.),    77,    78, 

261. 
Strephon(W.  Shenstone),  46- 

48. 
Strephon  (A.  Whistler),  128. 
Styack,  the   Housekeeper  at 

Stoke   Park  Manor  House, 

90. 
Sud,  224,  225,  should. 
Sue,    Susan    (J.     Cunning- 

ll.'lM)),    201  . 

SufTolk,  Lady— sec  How- 
ard, H. 

Suky  [  -  Susan  Craddock], 
279. 

Susan  fM.  Jonr«\  107. 

Swankics,  171,  strapping 
vonng  (i-l!ows. 

Sylvia i.\.  L.  ISaibauIdi,  276, 

277 
Synd[  =  a  rinsing],289, drink. 


'T,  27,  220,  231,  269,  ftc,  it. 
T",  61,  If  5,  226,  267,  &c.,  the. 
T',  3^  214,  K.C.,  to. 
T;ick8nian,  293,  one  holding 
a  faiiii  by  a  Irase. 


Tak,  224,  jqj,  take. 

Tap,  jid),  head. 

Taper.   1,    2,    Ignis  fatuus, 

marsh  gas. 
Tarrow.  225,  delay,  hesitate. 
Tell  his  beads,  I7f)',  count. 
.-^  Templar,  2211,  a  menilier 

of  the  Inner  Temple,  or  the 

Middle     Temple,     Inns     of 

Court,  Lomldii. 
Temple,  Viscountess  Cob- 
ham  ;  A.,  87,  ()i>-92. 
Take   tent   case,    292,    take 

heed,  Ix-w.-ire,  in  cas<-. 
The  Terence  of  England,  37, 

R.  Cumberland. 
Terrible,  Privateer,  63,  64. 
1  h',  Hi,  85,  101,  i\:c.,  tile. 
The  Thames,  i^i,  156,  247. 
Thankfu',  jiji,  thankful. 
Theek  it,  2.S9,  cover  it. 
They'd,  289,  ihey  would. 
They're,  166,  222,  236,  286, 

^c,  they  are. 
They've,  223,  they  have. 
Thirling  Mill,  292,  the  mill 

for  grinding  com,  to  which 

tenants   were    compelled    to 

send  their  corn. 
Thirsis  (.\non.),  17^. 
Thirsis(T.  Joel),  266. 
The'.  224,  221;,  \;c  ,  though. 
Thof,  288,  although 
Thomas  Anon.',  210. 
Thomas  (C.  Uibdin),  297. 
Thou'rt,  174,  thou  art. 
Thracia,  94. 
Thraw     their     necks,     235, 

twist. 
Thri sties,  290,  thistles. 
Thro',  2\(i,  through 
Thyrsis'll   S.  H),  129. 
Wonted  tids,  292,  accustomed 

times. 
Tiflls,  53. 

Tightly,  225,  closely. 
Tint,  291,  lost. 
Tire,  288.  aitire,  dress. 
Tirlcd  at  tlie  pin,  32,  twirled 

tile  I  amllr  of^llle  l.ltcll. 

'Tis.  19.  ^\-^x.  61,  Kc,  it  is. 

Tocher,  224,  dowry. 

Toddling  burns,  385,  purling 
brooks 

Tom  (.Anon  I,  310. 

Toin(C.  Dilidn*.  396,  397. 
j  Tom(T.  Giav),  81. 
I  Torno    f        lornea),    14,    the 
I      river  dividing  Sweden  Irora 
I      Finland. 

;  T'other,  fii,    165,  336,   367, 
i      &c  ,  the  otiii  r. 

Touzlea  n'  Uicir  tap  f    di 

khe\rN   all  their   hritdl.   J<;i>, 
niaki-D  ilieir  li;iir  Kland  up. 

To've,  252,  to  ha\e. 

Oui  Town,  32,  Edinbargh. 


Glossary  and  Index. 


The  Town,  21,  39,  250,  262, 
273i  295,  London,  and  the 
London  fashionable  World. 

Townsend,  M.P.,  afterwards 
Lord  Sydney  ;  T.,  26,  28. 

Trade,  12,  24,  Commerce.  Of 
the  two  great  Interests  in 
1770,  Land  was  Tory,  and 
Trade  was  Whig.  Manufac- 
tures became  a  third  Interest 
a  little  later  on.  Goldsmith 
in  this  Poem,  and  Dr.  John- 
son, in  its  last  four  lines, 
attack  Trade  as  a  national 
evil. 

Trailed  her,  39,  dragged. 

Train,  10,  15,  18,  20,  &c., 
company. 

Train,  12,  13,  49,  57,  &c., 
followers,  attendants. 

Train,  239,  the  tail  of  a  dress. 

Trigly,  287,  neatly,  trimly. 

Trinculo  (Anon.),  272,  the 
Boatswain,  from  the  one  so 
named  in  the  Tempest. 

Trip'st,  214,  trippest. 

Trow  me,  264, 265,  believe  me. 

I  trow'd  them,  222,  believed. 

Trufs,  289,  turfs. 

Try'd,  223,  tried. 

Tryon,  Miss,  227. 

Turkey  slippers,  235,  ?made 
of  Turkey  carpet. 

Ilka  turn,  289,  piece  of  work. 

Twa,  36,  222,  two. 

'Twas,  7,  27,  39,  &c.,  it  was. 

The  river  Tweed,  28,  39,  172, 
284. 

'Twill,  72,  it  will. 

Twitcher,  72. 

Twit'nam,  156,  the  former 
popular  pronunciation  of 
Twickenham. 

The  river  Tyne,  5. 

Tyrant,  11,  12,  was  simply 
the  landlord  at  Lissoy,  who 
insisted  on  the  payment  of 
his  rent. 


Unco,  288,   290,  uncommon, 

surprising. 
Upo',  2S9,  291,  upon. 
Upton  on  the  Hill,  258. 


'Vails  you,  45,  avails  you. 

Vale  of  Years,  85,  human 
life. 

The  Vale  of  Years,  268,  age. 

Vauxhall  Gardens,  Lon- 
don, 296. 

Verden,  68. 


Vernon,  C,  153. 

Vernon,  E.,  153. 

Vernon,  H.,  153. 

Virgilius  Maro,  P.,  288. 

The  Viscountess— see  Tem- 
ple, A. 

Vocal  shell,  184.  The  earliest 
lyres  were  supposed  to  have 
been  hollow  shells  with 
strings  across  them. 


Wad,  223,  289,  &c.,  would. 
Wadna,3i,  32,  &c.,wouldnot. 
Wae,  171,  284,  woe. 
Waes,  248,  woes. 
Wae's  me !  249,  woe  is  me ! 
Waesuck,  286,  alas ! 
Wallace,  Sir  W.,  31. 
Walpole,  Earl  of  Orford ; 

H.,  I53-I58' 
Wame,  286,  the  belly. 
Wandoghts,  223,  feeble  puny 

creatures. 
Ware,    63,    beware !     take 

heed  to ! 
Wark,  234,  work. 
Warld,  35,  248,  world. 
Warlocks,  290,  wizards. 
Warriors,  87,  Ladj'  Schaub 

and  Miss  Harriet  Speed. 
Warwickshire,  191-193. 
Wauken'd,  292,  wakened. 
Wauking,  33-3.'i,  waking. 
Wave,  291,  weave. 
To   wear   his   life,    36,    wear 

away,  pine,  destroy. 
Webster,  D.D.;  Rev.  A.,  59. 
A'  wede  away,  171,  weeded 

away. 
The  wee  things,  291,  little 

things. 
A  week  but  only  four,  249, 

only  four  weeks. 
A  week  but  only  twa,  248, 

only  two  weeks. 
Wee.1,  33,  287,  289,  well. 
Weet,  289,  wet,  rain. 
Weid  [  =  weedj,  283,  dress. 
Weirake,  290,  warlike. 
Welkin,  62,  288,  atmosphere. 
We'll,  8,  34,  &c.,  we  will. 
V/e're,  si.  we  are. 
West,  Earl  De  la  V/arr; 

J.,  2^6-229. 
Wha,  31,  32,  291,  &c.,  who. 
Wha'll,    225,   who    shall,   or 

who  will. 
Whang'd,  291,  sliced. 
Whare,  291,  where. 
Wharton,      Marquis      of 

Warton;  T.,  156 
Whase,  290, 292,  whose. 


What  ails  the  Lasses  at 

me  ?  222-224.  Why  do  the 
Girls  not  like  me?  o^'What 
have  the  Girls  against  me  ? 

Wheel,  21,  234,  spinning 
wheel. 

Where'er,  24,  wherever. 

Whilk,  289,  290,  292,  &c., 
which. 

Whistler,  A.,  128. 

Whitefield,  Rev.  G.,  i  S7- 

Whitehead,  P.L.;  W.,  149- 

Wi',  34-36,  222,  &c.,  with. 
Mony  wight,  290,many  a  man. 
Will  (Anon.),  2^8,  2S9. 
William  HI,  King,  6^. 
I'll  wear  the  willow,  52,  the 

badge  of  rejection. 
Win,  290,  dwell,  haunt. 
Windsor,  82,  195. 
Windsor  Castle,  67. 
Winna,  285,  287,  will  not. 
Winsome,  222,  gay,  cheerful, 

comely,  agreeable. 
Wirrikow     [  =  wirry-cow], 

290,  the  Devil. 
1  would  wit!  33,  know. 
Wod,  223,  would. 
Woffington,  M.,  184,  185. 
Wolte,  General  J.,  50. 
The  Wooden  Walls  of  Eng- 
i      land,  2S9,  260. 
i  Woodfail,  W.,  29. 
Worky  days,  243,  working 

days. 
We  wot,  41?,  we  know. 
Wou'd,  288,  would. 
Wraith,      249,      apparition, 

ghost. 
Wratacks,  223,  dwarfs. 
Wrottesley,  Miss,  227. 
Wyndham,  Earl  of  Egre- 

mont;  C,  126,  127. 
Wyatt,  Sir  T.,  96. 


The  river  Yarrow,  284. 
Year  of  Grace,  180,  3-ear  of 

novitiate,  or  probation. 
Yence,  285,  once. 
Yew,  290,  bow  made  of  yew. 
Onyird[=yerd,  earth  I  alang, 

290,  along  the  ground. 
Yon,    I,     14,     16,    33,     S:c., 

yonder. 
Days  of  yore,  283,  olden  times. 
You'll,  36,  149,  you  will. 
Younkers,  171,  young  men. 
You've,  163,  you  have. 


Zagen,  53. 
Duchy  of  Zell,  68. 


312 


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ADDISON.       Selectiotis  from 

Papirs   in    'The   Spectator:  With 

Notes.  By  T.  Arnold,  M. A.  Extra 
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AUBREY.  'Brief  Lives,' 
chiefly  of  Contemporaries,  set  down 
by  John  Aubrey,  between  the  Years 
1669  and  1696.  Edited  from  tlie 
Author's  MSS.  by  Andrew  Clark, 
M.A.,  LL.D.     3  vols.     Svo,  25J. 

BACON.  I.  Advancement  of 
Learning.  Edited  by  W.  Aldis 
Wright,  D.C.L.  Third  Edition. 
Extra  fcap.  Svo,  4J.  dd. 

//.    The    Essays.     Edited, 

with  Introduction  and  Illustrative 
Notes,  by  S.  II.  Reynolds,  M.A. 
Svo,  half- bound,  12s,  6d. 

BEAUCHAMP.  Hindu  Man- 
ners,  Customs,  and  Ceremonies. 
By  the  Abbe  J.  A.  Dubois.  Trans- 
lated from  the  Author's  later 
French  MS.  and  Edited  with  Notes, 
Corrections,  and  Biography,  by 
Henry  K.  Beauchamp.  With  a 
Prefatory  Note  by  the  Right  Hon. 
F.  Max  Mui.i.er,  and  a  Portrait. 
Second  Edition.     Svo,  1 51.  net. 

BO  SWELL'S    Life   of  Samuel 

Johnson,  LL.D. ;  including  Bos- 
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Hebrides,  and  Johnson's  Diary  of 
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BURKE.  Select  Works.  Edited, 
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II.  Reflections  on  the  French  Revo- 
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CHES  TER  FIEL  D.  Lord 
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CLARENDON.  Characters  and 
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JOHNSON.  Wit  and  Wisdom 
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Letters  of  Samuel  Johnson, 

LL.D.  Collected  and  Edited 
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